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MVERSITY    OF   CALIFORNIA     SAN    DIEGO 


3   1822  01171   21 


71 


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UNIVERSITY  Of 
CALIFOHNtA 

SAN  E>»EGu 


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WALTE  RvLEONvSAWYER 

B03T0N    MDCCCXCVn 


3   1822  01171   2171 


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By  the  same  AutJior. 

POEMS  AND  LYRICS  OF  THE  JOY  OF  EARTH. 

Extra  Fcap.  "ivo.      ds. 

MACMILLAN    AND    CO. 
1883. 


Forthcoming  Volmne. 

THE  READING  OF  EARTH 
Poems  and  Lyrics. 


BALLADS    AND    POEMS 

OF 

TRAGIC    LIFE 


BALLADS    AND    POEMS 


OF 


TRAGIC    LIFE 


BY 


GEORGE    MEREDITH 


ROBERTS    BROTHERS 

3  SOMERSET  STREET 

BOSTON 
1887 

A  U  rights  reseriwd 


CONTENTS 


The  Two  Masks         .... 

I 

Archduchess  Anne    .... 

3 

The  Song  of  Theodolinda  . 

25 

A  Preaching  from  a  Spanish  Ballad 

35 

The  Young  Princess 

42 

King  Harald's  Trance 

58 

Whimper  of  Sympathy 

•         63 

Young  Reynard          .... 

65 

Manfred          ..... 

67 

Hernani           ..... 

69 

The  Nuptials  of  Attila 

70 

Aneurin's  Harp          .... 

lOI 

France,  December  1870 

III 

Men  and  Man             .... 

127 

The  Last  Contention 

129 

Periander        ..... 

133 

Solon  ...... 

143 

Bellerophon  ..... 

148 

Phaethon        ...... 

152 

NOTES             ...... 

159 

THE  TWO  MASKS 

I. 

Melpomene  among  her  livid  people, 
Ere  stroke  of  lyre,  upon  Thaleia  looks. 
Warned  by  old  contests  that  one  museful  ripple 
Along  those  lips  of  rose  with  tendril  hooks. 
Forebodes  disturbance  in  the  springs  of  pathos, 
Perchance  may  change  of  masks  midway  demand, 
Albeit  the  man  rise  mountainous  as  Athos, 
The  woman  wild  as  Cape  Leucadia  stand. 


BALLADS  AND  POEMS 

II. 

For  this  the  Comic  Muse  exacts  of  creatures 
Appealing  to  the  fount  of  tears :  that  they 
Strive  never  to  outleap  our  human  features, 
And  do  Right  Reason's  ordinance  obey, 
In  peril  of  the  hum  to  laughter  nighest. 
But  prove  they  under  stress  of  action's  fire 
Nobleness,  to  that  test  of  Reason  highest, 
She  bows :  she  waves  them  for  the  loftier  lyre. 


ARCHDUCHESS  ANNE 


ARCHDUCHESS  ANNE 


I. 

In  middle  age  an  evil  thing 
Befel  Archduchess  Anne : 

She  looked  outside  her  wedding-ring 
Upon  a  princely  man. 

II. 

Count  Louis  was  for  horse  and  arms ; 

And  if  its  beacon  waved, 
For  love ;  but  ladies  had  not  charms 

To  match  a  danger  braved. 


BALLADS  AND  POEMS 

III. 
On  battlefields  he  was  the  bow 

Bestrung  to  fly  the  shaft : 

In  idle  hours  his  heart  would  flow 

As  winds  on  currents  waft. 

IV. 

His  blood  was  of  those  warrior  tribes 
That  streamed  from  morning's  fire, 

Whom  now  with  traps  and  now  with  bribes 
The  wily  Council  wire. 

V. 

Archduchess  Anne  the  Council  ruled, 

Count  Louis  his  great  dame ; 
And  woe  to  both  when  one  had  cooled  ! 

Little  was  she  to  blame. 

VI. 

Among  her  chiefs  who  spun  their  plots. 
Old  Kraken  stood  the  sword  : 

As  sharp  his  wits  for  cutting  knots 
Of  babble  he  abhorred. 


ARCHDUCHESS  ANNE 
VII. 

He  reverenced  her  name  and  line, 

Nor  other  merit  had 
Save  soldierwise  to  wait  her  sign, 

And  do  the  deed  she  bade. 

VIII. 

He  saw  her  hand  jump  at  her  side 

Ere  royally  she  smiled 
On  Louis  and  his  fair  young  bride 

Where  courtly  ranks  defiled. 

IX. 

That  was  a  moment  when  a  shock 

Through  the  procession  ran. 
And  thrilled  the  plumes,  and  stayed  the  clock, 

Yet  smiled  Archduchess  Anne. 

X. 

No  touch  gave  she  to  hound  in  leash, 

No  wink  to  sword  in  sheath  : 
She  seemed  a  woman  scarce  of  flesh ; 

Above  it,  or  beneath. 


BALLADS  AND  POEMS 

XI. 
Old  Kraken  spied  with  kennelled  snarl, 

His  Lady  deemed  disgraced. 

He  footed  as  on  burning  marl, 

When  out  of  Hall  he  paced. 

XII. 

'Twas  seen  he  hammered  striding  legs, 

And  stopped,  and  strode  again. 
Now  Vengeance  has  a  brood  of  eggs, 

But  Patience  must  be  hen. 

XIII. 

Too  slow  are  they  for  wrath  to  hatch. 

Too  hot  for  time  to  rear. 
Old  Kraken  kept  unwinking  watch  ; 

He  marked  his  day  appear. 

XIV. 

He  neighed  a  laugh,  though  moods  were  rough 

With  standards  in  revolt : 
His  nostrils  took  the  news  for  snuff. 

His  smacking  lips  for  salt. 


ARCHDUCHESS  ANNE 

XV, 

Count  Louis'  wavy  cock's  plumes  led 
His  troops  of  black-haired  manes, 

A  rebel ;  and  old  Kraken  sped 
To  front  him  on  the  plains. 

XVI. 

Then  camp  opposed  to  camp  did  they 
Fret  earth  with  panther  claws 

For  signal  of  a  bloody  day, 
Each  reading  from  the  Laws. 

XVII. 

'Forfend  it,  heaven  !'  Count  Louis  cried, 
'  And  let  the  righteous  plead  : 

My  country  is  a  willing  bride, 
Was  never  slave  decreed. 

XVIII. 

'  Not  we  for  thirst  of  blood  appeal 
To  sword  and  slaughter  cursed ; 

We  have  God's  blessing  on  our  steel, 
Do  we  our  pleading  first.' 


BALLADS  AND  POEMS 
XIX. 

Count  Louis,  soul  of  chivalry, 
Put  trust  in  plighted  word  ; 

By  starlight  on  the  broad  brown  lea, 
To  bar  the  strife  he  spurred. 

XX. 

Across  his  breast  a  crimson  spot, 

That  in  a  quiver  glowed. 
The  ruddy  crested  camp-fires  shot, 

As  he  to  darkness  rode. 

XXI. 

He  rode  while  omens  called,  beware 
Old  Kraken's  pledge  of  faith  ! 

A  smile  and  waving  hand  in  air. 
And  outward  flew  the  wraith. 

XXII. 

Before  pale  morn  had  mixed  with  gold. 
His  army  roared,  and  chilled, 

As  men  who  have  a  woe  foretold, 
And  see  it  red  fulfilled. 


ARCHDUCHESS  ANNE 
XXIII. 

Away  and  to  his  young  wife  speed, 
And  say  that  Honour's  dead  ! 

Another  word  she  will  not  need 
To  bow  a  widow's  head. 

XXIV. 

Old  Kraken  roped  his  white  moustache 

Right  left  for  savage  glee  : 
— To  swing  him  in  his  soldier's  sash, 

Were  kind  for  such  as  he  ! 

XXV. 

Old  Kraken's  look  hard  Winter  wears 
When  sweeps  the  wild  snow-blast : 

He  had  the  hug  of  Arctic  bears 
For  captives  he  held  fast. 


BALLADS  AND  POEMS 


II. 


I. 

Archduchess  Anne  sat  carved  in  frost, 
Shut  off  from  priest  and  spouse. 

Her  lips  were  locked,  her  arms  were  crossed, 
Her  eyes  were  in  her  brows. 

11. 

One  hand  enclosed  a  paper  scroll. 

Held  as  a  strangled  asp. 
So  may  we  see  the  woman's  soul 

In  her  dire  tempter's  grasp. 


ARCHDUCHESS  ANNE 

III. 

Along  that  scroll  Count  Louis'  doom 

Throbbed  till  the  letters  flamed. 
She  saw  him  in  his  scornful  bloom, 
She  saw  him  chained  and  shamed. 

IV. 

Around  that  scroll  Count  Louis'  fate 

Was  acted  to  her  stare, 
And  hate  in  love  and  love  in  hate 

Fought  fell  to  smite  or  spare. 

V. 

Between  the  day  that  struck  her  old, 
And  this  black  star  of  days, 

Her  heart  swung  like  a  storm-bell  tolled 
Above  a  town  ablaze. 

VI. 

His  beauty  pressed  to  intercede, 

His  beauty  served  him  ill. 
— Not  Vengeance,  'tis  his  rebel's  deed, 

'Tis  Justice,  not  our  will ! 


BALLADS  AND  POEMS 
VII. 

Yet  who  had  sprung  to  Hfe's  full  force 

A  breast  that  loveless  dried  ? 
But  who  had  sapped  it  at  the  source, 

With  scarlet  to  her  pride  ! 

VIII. 

He  brought  her  human  wane  as  'twere 

New  message  from  the  skies. 
And  he  betrayed,  and  left  on  her 

The  burden  of  their  sighs. 

IX. 

In  floods  her  tender  memories  poured  ; 

They  foamed  with  waves  of  spite  ; 
She  crushed  them,  high  her  heart  outsoared, 

To  keep  her  mind  alight. 

X. 

— The  crawling  creature,  called  in  scorn 

A  woman  ! — with  this  pen 
We  sign  a  paper  that  may  warn 

His  crowing  fellowmen. 


ARCHDUCHESS  ANNE  13 

XI. 

— We  read  them  lesson  of  a  power 

They  slight  who  do  us  wrong. 
That  bitter  hour  this  bitter  hour 

Provokes ;  by  turns  the  strong  ! 

XII. 

— That  we  were  woman  once  is  known  : 

That  we  are  Justice  now, 
Above  our  sex,  above  the  throne. 

Men  quaking  shall  avow. 

XIII. 

Archduchess  Anne  ascending  flew. 

Her  heart  outsoared,  but  felt 
The  demon  of  her  sex  pursue. 

Incensing  or  to  melt. 

XIV. 

Those  counterfloods  below  at  leap, 

Still  in  her  breast  blew  storm. 
And  farther  up  the  heavenly  steep, 

Wrestled  in  angels'  form. 


14  BALLADS  AND  TOEMS 

XV. 
To  disentangle  one  clear  wish 

Not  of  her  sex,  she  sought ; 

And  womanish  to  womanish, 

Discerned  in  lighted  thought. 

XVI. 

With  Louis'  chance  it  went  not  well 
When  at  herself  she  raged ; 

A  woman,  of  whom  men  might  tell 
She  doted,  crazed  and  aged. 

XVII. 

Or  else  enamoured  of  a  sweet 
Withdrawn,  a  vengeful  crone  ! 

And  say,  what  figure  at  her  feet 
Is  this  that  utters  moan  ? 

XVIII. 

The  Countess  Louis  from  her  head 
Drew  veil :  '  Great  Lady,  hear  ! 

My  husband  deems  you  Justice  dread, 
I  know  you  Mercy  dear. 


ARCHDUCHESS  ANNE  15 

XIX. 

'  His  error  upon  him  may  fall ; 

He  will  not  breathe  a  nay. 
I  am  his  helpless  mate  in  all, 

Except  for  grace  to  pray. 

XX. 

'  Perchance  on  me  his  choice  inclined, 

To  give  his  House  an  heir : 
I  had  not  marriage  with  his  mind, 

His  counsel  could  not  share. 

XXI. 

'  I  brought  no  portion  for  his  weal 

But  this  one  instinct  true, 
Which  bids  me  in  my  weakness  kneel. 

Archduchess  Anne,  to  you. ' 

XXII. 

The  frowning  Lady  uttered,  '  Forth  ! ' 

Her  look  forbade  delay. 
'  It  is  not  mine  to  weigh  your  worth  ; 

Your  husband's  others  weigh. 


i6  BALLADS  AND  POEMS 

XXIII. 

'  Hence  with  the  woman  in  your  speech, 

For  nothing  it  avails 
In  woman's  fashion  to  beseech 

Where  Justice  holds  the  scales. ' 

XXIV. 

Then  bent  and  went  the  lady  wan, 

Whose  girlishness  made  grey 
The  thoughts  that  through  Archduchess  Anne 

Shattered  like  stormy  spray. 

XXV. 

Long  sat  she  there,  as  flame  that  strives 

To  hold  on  beating  wind  : 
— His  wife  must  be  the  fool  of  wives. 

Or  cunningly  designed  ! 

XXVI. 

She  sat  until  the  tempest-pitch 

In  her  torn  bosom  fell ; 
— His  wife  must  be  a  subtle  witch, 

Or  else  God  loves  her  well ! 


ARCHDUCHESS  ANNE  17 


III. 


Old  Kraken  read  a  missive  penned 
By  his  great  Lady's  hand. 

Her  condescension  called  him  friend, 
To  raise  the  crest  she  fanned. 


Swiftly  to  where  he  lay  encamped 

It  flew,  yet  breathed  aloof 

From  woman's  feeling,  and  he  stamped 

A  heel  more  like  a  hoof. 
c 


BALLADS  AND  POEMS 

III. 
She  wrote  of  Mercy  :  '  She  was  loth 

Too  hard  to  goad  a  foe.' 

He  stamped,  as  when  men  drive  an  oath 

Devils  transcribe  below. 

IV. 

She  wrote  :  '  We  have  him  half  by  theft.' 

His  wrinkles  glistened  keen  : 
And  see  the  Winter  storm-cloud  cleft 

To  lurid  skies  between  ! 

v. 

When  read  old  Kraken  :  '  Christ  our  Guide,' 

His  eyes  were  spikes  of  spar  : 
And  see  the  white  snow-storm  divide 
About  an  icy  star  ! 

VI. 

'  She  trusted  him  to  understand,' 

She  wrote,  and  further  prayed 
That  policy  might  rule  the  land. 

Old  Kraken's  laughter  neighed. 


ARCHDUCHESS  ANNE  19 

VII. 
Her  words  he  took ;  her  nods  and  winks 

Treated  as  woman's  fog. 

The  man-dog  for  his  mistress  thinks, 

Not  less  her  faithful  dog. 

VIII. 

She  hugged  a  cloak  old  Kraken  ripped ; 

Disguise  to  him  he  loathed. 
— Your  mercy,  madam,  shows  you  stripped. 

While  mine  will  keep  you  clothed. 

IX. 

A  rough  ill-soldered  scar  in  haste 

He  rubbed  on  his  cheek-bone. 
— Our  policy  the  man  shall  taste ; 

Our  mercy  shall  be  shown. 

X. 

'  Count  Louis,  honour  to  your  race 

Decrees  the  Council-hall : 
You  'scape  the  rope  by  special  grace, 

And  like  a  soldier  fall.' 


BALLADS  AND  POEMS 
XI. 

• — I  am  a  man  of  many  sins, 

Who  for  one  virtue  die, 
Count  Louis  said. — They  play  at  shins, 

Who  kick,  was  the  reply. 

XII. 

Uprose  the  day  of  crimson  sight. 

The  day  without  a  God. 
At  morn  the  hero  said  Good-night ; 

See  there  that  stain  on  sod  ! 

XIII. 

At  morn  the  Countess  Louis  heard 

Young  light  sing  in  the  lark. 
Ere  eve  it  was  that  other  bird, 

Which  brings  the  starless  dark. 

XIV. 

To  heaven  she  vowed  herself,  and  yearned 

Beside  her  lord  to  lie. 
Archduchess  Anne  on  Kraken  turned. 

All  white  as  a  dead  eye. 


ARCHDUCHESS  ANNE 
XV. 

If  I  could  kill  thee  !  shrieked  her  look  : 
If  lightning  sprang  from  Will  ! 

An  oaken  head  old  Kraken  shook, 
And  she  might  thank  or  kill. 

XVI. 

The  pride  that  fenced  her  heart  in  mail, 

By  mortal  pain  was  torn. 
Forth  from  her  bosom  leaped  a  wail. 

As  of  a  babe  new-born. 

XVII. 

She  clad  herself  in  courtly  use, 
And  one  who  heard  them  prate. 

Had  said  they  differed  upon  views 
Where  statecraft  raised  debate. 

XVIII. 

The  wretch  detested  must  she  trust, 

The  servant  master  own  : 
Confide  to  godless  cause  so  just. 

And  for  God's  blessing  moan. 


BALLADS  AND  POEMS 

XIX. 

Austerely  she  her  heart  kept  down, 

Her  woman's  tongue  was  mute 
When  voice  of  People,  voice  of  Crown, 
In  cannon  held  dispute. 

XX. 

The  Crown  on  seas  of  blood,  like  swine. 
Swam  forefoot  at  the  throat : 

It  drank  of  its  dear  veins  for  wine. 
Enough  if  it  might  float ! 

XXI. 

It  sank  with  piteous  yelp,  resurged 

Electrical  with  fear. 
O  had  she  on  old  Kraken  urged 

Her  word  of  mercy  clear  ! 

XXII. 

O  had  they  with  Count  Louis  been 

Accordant  in  his  plea  ! 
Cursed  are  the  women  vowed  to  screen 

A  heart  that  all  can  see  ! 


ARCHDUCHESS  ANNE  23 

XXIII. 
The  godless  drove  unto  a  goal 

Was  worse  than  vile  defeat. 
Did  vengeance  prick  Count  Louis'  soul 

They  dressed  him  luscious  meat. 

XXIV. 

Worms  will  the  faithless  find  their  lies 

In  the  close  treasure-chest. 
Without  a  God  no  day  can  rise, 

Though  it  should  slay  our  best. 

XXV. 

The  Crown  it  furled  a  draggled  flag, 

It  sheathed  a  broken  blade. 
Behold  its  triumph  in  the  hag 

That  lives  with  looks  decayed  ! 

XXVI. 

And  lo,  the  man  of  oaken  head, 

Of  soldier's  honour  bare. 
He  fled  his  land,  but  most  he  fled 

His  Lady's  frigid  stare. 


24  BALLADS  AND  POEMS 

XXVII. 
Judged  by  the  issue  we  discern 

God's  blessing,  and  the  bane. 
Count  Louis'  dust  would  fill  an  urn, 

His  deeds  are  waving  grain. 

XXVIII. 

And  she  that  helped  to  slay,  yet  bade 
To  spare  the  fated  man, 

Great  were  her  errors,  but  she  had 
Great  heart,  Archduchess  Anne. 


THE  SONG  OF  THEODOLINDA  25 


THE  SONG  OF  THEODOLINDA 


Queen  Theodolind  has  built 
In  the  earth  a  furnace-bed  : 
There  the  Traitor  Nail  that  spilt 
Blood  of  the  anointed  Head, 
Red  of  heat,  resolves  in  shame  : 
White  of  heat,  awakes  to  flame. 

Beat,  beat !  white  of  heat, 
Red  of  heat,  beat,  beat ! 


26  BALLADS  AND  POEMS 

II. 

Mark  the  skeleton  of  fire 
Lightening  from  its  thunder-roof : 
So  comes  this  that  saw  expire 
Him  we  love,  for  our  behoof ! 
Red  of  heat,  O  white  of  heat, 
This  from  off  the  Cross  we  greet. 


III. 

Brown-cowled  hammermen  around 
Nerve  their  naked  arms  to  strike 
Death  with  Resurrection  crowned, 
Each  upon  that  cruel  spike. 
Red  of  heat  the  furnace  leaps, 
White  of  heat  transfigured  sleeps. 

IV. 

Hard  against  the  furnace  core 
Holds  the  Queen  her  streaming  eyes 


THE  SONG  OF  THEODOLINDA  27 

Lo  !  that  thing  of  piteous  gore 
In  the  lap  of  radiance  hes, 
Red  of  heat,  as  when  He  takes, 
White  of  heat,  whom  earth  forsakes. 

V. 

Forth  with  it,  and  crushing  ring 
Iron  hymns,  for  men  to  hear 
Echoes  of  the  deeds  that  sting 
Earth  into  its  graves,  and  fear  ! 
Red  of  heat.  He  maketh  thus, 
White  of  heat,  a  crown  of  us. 

VI. 

This  that  killed  Thee,  kissed  Thee,  Lord  ! 
Touched  Thee,  and  we  touch  it :  dear, 
Dark  it  is  ;  adored,  abhorred  : 
Vilest,  yet  most  sainted  here. 
Red  of  heat,  O  white  of  heat, 
In  it  hell  and  heaven  meet. 


28  BALLADS  AND  TOEMS 


VII. 


I  behold  our  morning  day 
When  they  chased  Him  out  with  rods 
Up  to  where  this  traitor  lay 
Thirsting ;  and  the  blood  was  God's  ! 
Red  of  heat,  it  shall  be  pressed, 
White  of  heat,  once  on  my  breast ! 

VIII. 

Quick  !  the  reptile  in  me  shrieks. 
Not  the  soul.     Again ;  the  Cross 
Burn  there.     Oh  !  this  pain  it  wreaks 
Rapture  is  :  pain  is  not  loss. 
Red  of  heat,  the  tooth  of  Death, 
White  of  heat,  has  caught  my  breath. 

IX. 

Brand  me,  bite  me,  bitter  thing ! 
Thus  He  felt,  and  thus  I  am 


THE  SONG  OF  THEODOLINDA  29 

One  with  Him  in  suffering, 
One  with  Him  in  bliss,  the  Lamb. 
Red  of  heat,  O  white  of  heat. 
Thus  is  bitterness  made  sweet. 

X. 

Now  am  I,  who  bear  that  stamp 
Scorched  in  me,  the  hving  sign 
Sole  on  earth — the  lighted  lamp 
Of  the  dreadful  day  divine. 
White  of  heat,  beat  on  it  fast ! 
Red  of  heat,  its  shape  has  passed. 


Out  in  angry  sparks  they  fly. 
They  that  sentenced  Him  to  bleed 
Pontius  and  his  troop  :  they  die. 
Damned  for  ever  for  the  deed  ! 
White  of  heat  in  vain  they  soar  : 
Red  of  heat  they  strew  the  floor. 


30  BALLADS  AND  POEMS 

XII, 

Fury  on  it !  have  its  debt ! 
Thunder  on  the  Hill  accurst, 
Golgotha,  be  ye  !  and  sweat 
Blood,  and  thirst  the  Passion's  thirst. 
Red  of  heat  and  white  of  heat. 
Champ  it  like  fierce  teeth  that  eat. 

XIII. 

Strike  it  as  the  ages  crush 
Towers  !  for  while  a  shape  is  seen 
I  am  rivalled.     Quench  its  blush, 
Devil !     But  it  crowns  me  Queen, 
Red  of  heat,  as  none  before. 
White  of  heat,  the  circlet  wore. 

XIV. 

Lowly  I  will  be,  and  quail. 
Crawling,  with  a  beggar's  hand  : 


THE  SONG  OF  THEODOLINDA  31 

On  my  breast  the  branded  Nail, 
On  my  head  the  iron  band. 
Red  of  heat,  are  none  so  base  ! 
White  of  heat,  none  know  such  grace  ! 

XV. 

In  their  heaven  the  sainted  hosts, 
Robed  in  violet  unflecked, 
Gaze  on  humankind  as  ghosts  : 
I  draw  down  a  ray  direct. 
Red  of  heat,  across  my  brow, 
White  of  heat,  I  touch  Him  now. 

XVI. 

Robed  in  violet,  robed  in  gold. 
Robed  in  pearl,  they  make  our  dawn. 
What  am  I  to  them  ?     Behold 
What  ye  are  to  me,  and  fawn. 
Red  of  heat,  be  humble,  ye  ! 
White  of  heat,  O  teach  it  me  ! 


32  BALLADS  AND  POEMS 


XVII. 


Martyrs  !  hungry  peaks  in  air, 

Rent  with  Hghtnings,  clad  with  snow, 

Crowned  with  stars  !  you  strip  me  bare, 

Pierce  me,  shame  me,  stretch  me  low. 

Red  of  heat,  but  it  may  be, 

White  of  heat,  some  envy  me  ! 

XVIII. 

O  poor  enviers  !     God's  own  gifts 
Have  a  devil  for  the  weak. 
Yea,  the  very  force  that  lifts 
Finds  the  vessel's  secret  leak. 
Red  of  heat,  I  rise  o'er  all : 
White  of  heat,  I  faint,  I  fall. 

XIX. 

Those  old  Martyrs  sloughed  their  pride. 
Taking  humbleness  like  mirth. 


THE  SONG  OF  THEODOLINDA  33 

I  am  to  His  Glory  tied, 
I  that  witness  Him  on  earth  ! 
Red  of  heat,  my  pride  of  dust, 
White  of  heat,  feeds  fire  in  trust. 


XX. 

Kindle  me  to  constant  fire. 
Lest  the  nail  be  but  a  nail ! 
Give  me  wings  of  great  desire. 
Lest  I  look  within,  and  fail ! 
Red  of  heat,  the  furnace  light, 
White  of  heat,  fix  on  my  sight. 


XXI. 

Never  for  the  Chosen  peace  ! 
Know,  by  me  tormented  know. 
Never  shall  the  wrestling  cease 
Till  with  our  outlasting  Foe, 


34  BALLADS  AND  POEMS 

Red  of  heat  to  white  of  heat, 
Roll  we  to  the  Godhead's  feet ! 

Beat,  beat !  white  of  heat. 
Red  of  heat,  beat,  beat ! 

XXII. 

Red  of  heat  the  firebrands  die. 
White  of  heat  the  ashes  lie. 


A  PREACHING  FROM  A  SPANISH  BALLAD  35 


A  PREACHING  FROM  A  SPANISH 
BALLAD 

I. 

Ladies  who  in  chains  of  wedlock 
Chafe  at  an  unequal  yoke, 
Not  to  nightingales  give  hearing ; 
Better  this,  the  raven's  croak. 

II. 

Down  the  Prado  strolled  my  seigneur, 
Arm  at  lordly  bow  on  hip. 
Fingers  trimming  his  moustachios. 
Eyes  for  pirate  fellowship. 


36  BALLADS  AND  POEMS 

HI. 

Home  sat  she  that  owned  him  master ; 

Like  the  flower  bent  to  ground 
Rain-surcharged  and  sun-forsaken ; 
Heedless  of  her  hair  unbound. 

IV. 

Sudden  at  her  feet  a  lover 
Palpitating  knelt  and  wooed  ; 
Seemed  a  very  gift  from  heaven 
To  the  starved  of  common  food. 

V. 

Love  me  ?  she  his  vows  repeated  : 
Fiery  vows  oft  sung  and  thrummed  : 
Wondered,  as  on  earth  a  stranger ; 
Thirsted,  trusted,  and  succumbed. 

VI. 

O  beloved  youth  !  my  lover  ! 
Mine  !  my  lover  !  take  my  life 
Wholly  :  thine  in  soul  and  body. 
By  this  oath  of  more  than  wife  ! 


A  PREACHING  FROM  A  SPANISH  BALLAD  37 

VII. 

Know  me  for  no  helpless  woman ; 

Nay,  nor  coward,  though  I  sink 
Awed  beside  thee,  like  an  infant 
Learning  shame  ere  it  can  think. 

VIII. 

Swing  me  hence  to  do  thee  service, 
Be  thy  succour,  prove  thy  shield ; 
Heaven  will  hear  ! — in  house  thy  handmaid, 
Squire  upon  the  battlefield. 

IX. 

At  my  breasts  I  cool  thy  footsoles  ; 
Wine  I  pour,  I  dress  thy  meats  ; 
Humbly,  when  my  lord  it  pleaseth, 
Lie  with  him  on  perfumed  sheets  : 

X. 

Pray  for  him,  my  blood's  dear  fountain. 
While  he  sleeps,  and  watch  his  yawn 
In  that  wakening  babelike  moment, 
Sweeter  to  my  thought  than  dawn  ! — 


38  BALLADS  AND  POEMS 

XI. 
Thundered  then  her  lord  of  thunders  ; 

Burst  the  door,  and  flashing  sword, 

Loud  disgorged  the  woman's  title  : 

Condemnation  in  one  word. 

XII. 

Grand  by  righteous  wrath  transfigured, 
Towers  the  husband  who  provides 
In  his  person  judge  and  witness. 
Death's  black  doorkeeper  besides  ! 

XIII. 

Round  his  head  the  ancient  terrors, 
Conjured  of  the  stronger's  law, 
Circle,  to  abash  the  creature 
Daring  twist  beneath  his  paw. 

XIV. 

How  though  he  hath  squandered  Honour  ! 
High  of  Honour  let  him  scold  : 
Gilding  of  the  man's  possession, 
'Tis  the  woman's  coin  of  gold. 


A  PREACHING  FROM  A  SPANISH  BALLAD  39 

XV. 

She  inheriting  from  many 
Bleeding  mothers  bleeding  sense, 
Feels  'tvvixt  her  and  sharp-fanged  nature 
Honour  first  did  plant  the  fence. 

XVI. 

Nature,  that  so  shrieks  for  justice  ; 
Honour's  thirst,  that  blood  will  slake ; 
These  are  women's  riddles,  roughly 
Mixed  to  write  them  saint  or  snake. 

XVII. 

Never  nature  cherished  woman  : 
She  throughout  the  sexes'  war 
Serves  as  temptress  and  betrayer, 
Favouring  man,  the  muscular. 

XVIII. 

Lureful  is  she,  bent  for  folly ; 
Boating  on  the  child  which  crows  : 
Yours  to  teach  him  grace  in  fealty. 
What  the  bloom  is,  what  the  rose. 


40  BALLADS  AND  POEMS 

XIX. 

Hard  the  task  :  your  prison-chamber 
Widens  not  for  Hfted  latch 
Till  the  giant  thews  and  sinews 
Meet  their  Godlike  overmatch. 

XX. 

Read  that  riddle,  scorning  pity's 
Tears,  of  cockatrices  shed  : 
When  the  heart  is  vowed  for  freedom, 
Captaincy  it  yields  to  head. 

XXI. 

Meanv/hile  you,  freaked  nature's  martyrs, 
Honour's  army,  flower  and  weed, 
Gentle  ladies,  wedded  ladies, 
See  for  you  this  fair  one  bleed. 

XXII. 

Sole  stood  her  offence,  she  faltered ; 
Prayed  her  lord  the  youth  to  spare  ; 
Prayed  that  in  the  orange  garden 
She  might  lie,  and  ceased  her  prayer. 


A  PREACHING  FROM  A  SPANISH  BALLAD  41 

XXIII. 

Then  commending  to  all  women 
Chastity,  her  breasts  she  laid 
Bare  unto  the  self-avenger. 
Man  in  metal  was  the  blade. 


42  BALLADS  AND  POEMS 


THE  YOUNG  PRINCESS 


A  BALLAD  OF  OLD  LAWS  OF  LOVE 


When  the  South  sang  hke  a  nightingale 

Above  a  bower  in  May, 
The  training  of  Love's  vine  of  flame 
Was  writ  in  laws,  for  lord  and  dame 

To  say  their  yea  and  nay. 


THE  YOUNG  PRINCESS  43 

II. 
When  the  South  sang  Hke  a  nightingale 

Across  the  flowering  night, 
And  lord  and  dame  held  gentle  sport, 
There  came  a  young  princess  to  Court, 

A  frost  of  beauty  white. 

III. 
The  South  sang  like  a  nightingale 

To  thaw  her  glittering  dream  : 
No  vine  of  Love  her  bosom  gave, 
She  drank  no  wine  of  Love,  but  grave 

She  held  them  to  Love's  theme. 

IV. 

The  South  grew  all  a  nightingale 

Beneath  a  moon  unmoved  : 
Like  the  banner  of  war  she  led  them  on  ; 
She  left  them  to  lie,  like  the  light  that  has  gone 

From  wine-cups  overproved. 


44  BALLADS  AND  POEMS 

V. 

When  the  South  was  a  fervid  nightingale, 

And  she  a  chilHng  moon, 
'Twas  pity  to  see  on  the  garden  swards, 
Against  Love's  laws,  those  rival  lords 
As  willow-wands  lie  strewn. 

VL 

The  South  had  throat  of  a  nightingale 

For  her,  the  young  princess  : 
She  gave  no  vine  of  Love  to  rear, 
Love's  wine  drank  not,  yet  bent  her  ear 
To  themes  of  Love  no  less. 


THE  YOUNG  PRINCESS  45 


II 


I. 

The  lords  of  the  Court  they  sighed  heart-sick, 

Heart-free  Lord  Dusiote  laughed  : 
I  prize  her  no  more  than  a  fling  o'  the  dice, 
But,  or  shame  to  my  manhood,  a  lady  of  ice. 
We  master  her  by  craft ! 

II. 
Heart-sick  the  lords  of  joyance  yawned. 

Lord  Dusiote  laughed  heart-free  : 
I  count  her  as  much  as  a  crack  o'  my  thumb, 
But,  or  shame  of  my  manhood,  to  me  she  shall  come 

Like  the  l)ird  to  roost  in  the  tree  ! 


46  BALLADS  AND  POEMS 

III. 

At  dead  of  night  when  the  palace-guard 
Had  passed  the  measured  rounds, 
The  young  princess  awoke  to  feel 
A  shudder  of  blood  at  the  crackle  of  steel 
Within  the  garden-bounds. 

IV. 

It  ceased,  and  she  thought  of  whom  was  need. 

The  friar  or  the  leech ; 
When  lo,  stood  her  tirewoman  breathless  by  : 
Lord  Dusiote,  madam,  to  death  is  nigh, 

Of  you  he  would  have  speech. 

V. 

He  prays  you  of  your  gentleness, 
To  light  him  to  his  dark  end. 

The  princess  rose,  and  forth  she  went. 

For  charity  was  her  intent. 
Devoutly  to  befriend. 


THE  YOUNG  PRINCESS  47 

VI. 

Lord  Dusiote  hung  on  his  good  squire's  arm, 

The  priest  beside  him  knelt : 
A  weeping  handkerchief  was  pressed 
To  stay  the  red  flood  at  his  breast, 

And  bid  cold  ladies  melt. 

VII. 

0  lady,  though  you  are  ice  to  men, 

All  pure  to  heaven  as  light 
Within  the  dew  within  the  flower, 
Of  you  'tis  whispered  that  love  has  power 

When  secret  is  the  night. 

VIII. 

1  have  silenced  the  slanderers,  peace  to  their  souls  ! 

Save  one  was  too  cunning  for  me. 
I  die,  whose  love  is  late  avowed, 
He  lives,  who  boasts  the  lily  has  bowed 

To  the  oath  of  a  bended  knee. 


48  BALLADS  AND  POEMS 

IX. 

Lord  Dusiote  drew  breath  with  pain, 
And  she  with  pain  drew  breath  : 

On  him  she  looked,  on  his  hke  above ; 

She  flew  in  the  folds  of  a  marvel  of  love. 
Revealed  to  pass  to  death. 

X. 

You  are  dying,  O  great-hearted  lord, 

You  are  dying  for  me,  she  cried ; 
O  take  my  hand,  O  take  my  kiss, 
And  take  of  your  right  for  love  like  this, 
The  vow  that  plights  me  bride. 

XI. 

She  bade  the  priest  recite  his  words 
While  hand  in  hand  were  they, 

Lord  Dusiote's  soul  to  waft  to  bliss ; 

He  had  her  hand,  her  vow,  her  kiss. 
And  his  body  was  borne  away. 


THE  YOUNG  PRINCESS  49 


III. 


I. 
Lord  Dusiote  sprang  from  priest  and  squire ; 

He  gazed  at  her  lighted  room  : 
The  laughter  in  his  heart  grew  slack ; 
He  knew  not  the  force  that  pushed  him  back 

From  her  and  the  morn  in  bloom. 

II. 
Like  a  drowned  man's  length  on  the  strong  flood-tide, 

Like  the  shade  of  a  bird  in  the  sun, 
He  fled  from  his  lady  whom  he  might  claim 
As  ghost,  and  who  made  the  daybeams  flame 

To  scare  what  he  had  done. 

E 


50  BALLADS  AND  POEMS 

III. 

There  was  grief  at  Court  for  one  so  gay, 
Though  he  was  a  lord  less  keen 

For  training  the  vine  than  at  vintage-press ; 

But  in  her  soul  the  young  princess 
Believed  that  love  had  been. 

IV. 

Lord  Dusiote  fled  the  Court  and  land, 

He  crossed  the  woeful  seas, 
Till  his  traitorous  doing  seemed  clearer  to  burn, 
And  the  lady  beloved  drew  his  heart  for  return. 

Like  the  banner  of  war  in  the  breeze. 


He  neared  the  palace,  he  spied  the  Court, 
And  music  he  heard,  and  they  told 
Of  foreign  lords  arrived  to  bring 
The  nuptial  gifts  of  a  bridegroom  king 
To  the  princess  grave  and  cold. 


THE  YOUNG  PRINCESS  51 

VI. 

The  masque  and  the  dance  were  cloud  on  wave, 
And  down  the  masque  and  the  dance 

Lord  Dusiote  stepped  from  dame  to  dame, 

And  to  the  young  princess  he  came, 

With  a  bow  and  a  burning  glance. 

VII. 

Do  you  take  a  new  husband  to-morrow,  lady  ? 

She  shrank  as  at  prick  of  steel. 
Must  the  first  yield  place  to  the  second,  he  sighed. 
Her  eyes  were  like  the  grave  that  is  wide 

For  the  corpse  from  head  to  heel. 


My  lady,  my  love,  that  little  hand 

Has  mine  ringed  fast  in  plight : 

I  bear  for  your  lips  a  lawful  thirst. 

And  as  justly  the  second  should  follow  the  first, 
I  come  to  your  door  this  night. 


52  BALLADS  AND  POEMS 

IX. 

If  a  ghost  should  come  a  ghost  will  go : 

No  more  the  lady  said, 
Save  that  ever  when  he  in  wrath  began 
To  swear  by  the  faith  of  a  living  man, 
She  answered  him.  You  are  dead. 


THE  YOUNG  PRINCESS  S3 


IV. 


I. 

The  soft  night-wind  went  laden  to  death 
With  smell  of  the  orange  in  flower ; 

The  light  leaves  prattled  to  neighbour  ears ; 

The  bird  of  the  passion  sang  over  his  tears ; 
The  night  named  hour  by  hour. 


Sang  loud,  sang  low  the  rapturous  bird 

Till  the  yellow  hour  was  nigh, 
Behind  the  folds  of  a  darker  cloud  : 
He  chuckled,  he  sobbed,  alow,  aloud ; 
The  voice  between  earth  and  sky. 


54  BALLADS  AND  POEMS 

III. 

O  will  you,  will  you,  women  are  weak ; 

The  proudest  are  yielding  mates 
For  a  forward  foot  and  a  tongue  of  fire  : 
So  thought  Lord  Dusiote's  trusty  squire, 

At  watch  by  the  palace-gates. 

IV. 

The  song  of  the  bird  was  wine  in  his  blood, 

And  woman  the  odorous  bloom  : 
His  master's  great  adventure  stirred 
Within  him  to  mingle  the  bloom  and  bird, 
And  morn  ere  its  coming  illume. 

V. 

Beside  him  strangely  a  piece  of  the  dark 

Had  moved,  and  the  undertones 
Of  a  priest  in  prayer,  like  a  cavernous  wave, 
He  heard,  as  were  there  a  soul  to  save 
For  urgency  now  in  the  groans. 


THE  YOUNG  PRINCESS  55 

VI. 
No  priest  was  hired  for  the  play  this  night  : 

And  the  squire  tossed  head  Uke  a  deer 
At  sniff  of  the  tainted  wind  ;  he  gazed 
Where  cresset-lamps  in  a  door  were  raised, 

Belike  on  a  passing  bier. 

VII. 

All  cloaked  and  masked,  with  naked  blades. 
That  flashed  of  a  judgement  done. 

The  lords  of  the  Court,  from  the  palace-door, 

Came  issuing  silently,  bearers  four. 

And  flat  on  their  shoulders  one. 

VIII. 

They  marched  the  body  to  squire  and  priest, 

They  lowered  it  sad  to  earth  : 
The  priest  they  gave  the  burial  dole, 
Bade  wrestle  hourly  for  his  soul. 

Who  was  a  lord  of  worth. 


S6  BALLADS  AND  POEMS 

IX. 

One  said,  farewell  to  a  gallant  knight ! 

And  one,  but  a  restless  ghost ! 
'Tis  a  year  and  a  day  since  in  this  place 
He  died,  sped  high  by  a  lady  of  grace 

To  join  the  bHssful  host. 

X. 

Not  vainly  on  us  she  charged  her  cause, 

The  lady  whom  we  revere 
For  faith  in  the  mask  of  a  love  untrue 
To  the  Love  we  honour,  the  Love  her  due. 
The  Love  we  have  vowed  to  rear. 

XI. 

A  trap  for  the  sweet  tooth,  lures  for  the  light, 

For  the  fortress  defiant  a  mine  : 
Right  well !     But  not  in  the  South,  princess, 
Shall  the  lady  snared  of  her  nobleness 
Ever  shamed  or  a  captive  pine. 


THE  YOUNG  PRINCESS  57 

XII. 
When  the  South  had  voice  of  a  nightingale 

Above  a  Maying  bower, 
On  the  heights  of  Love  walked  radiant  peers ; 
The  bird  of  the  passion  sang  over  his  tears 

To  the  breeze  and  the  orange-flower. 


58  BALLADS  AND  POEMS 


KING   HARALD'S  TRANCE 

I. 

Sword  in  length  a  reaping-hook  amain 
Harald  sheared  his  field,  blood  up  to  shank 
'Mid  the  swathes  of  slain, 
First  at  moonrise  drank. 


Thereof  hunger,  as  for  meats  the  knife. 
Pricked  his  ribs,  in  one  sharp  spur  to  reach 
Home  and  his  young  wife, 
Nigh  the  sea-ford  beach. 


KING  HARALD'S  TRANCE  59 

III. 
After  battle  keen  to  feed  was  he  : 
Smoking  flesh  the  thresher  washed  down  fast, 

Like  an  angry  sea 

Ships  from  keel  to  mast. 

IV. 

Name  us  glory,  singer,  name  us  pride 
Matching  Harald's  in  his  deeds  of  strength ; 

Chiefs,  wife,  sword  by  side, 

Foemen  stretched  their  length  ! 

V. 

Half  a  winter  night  the  toasts  hurrahed. 
Crowned  him,  clothed  him,  trumpeted  him  high. 

Till  awink  he  bade 

Wife  to  chamber  fly. 

VI. 

Twice  the  sun  had  mounted,  twice  had  sunk. 
Ere  his  ears  took  sound ;  he  lay  for  dead ; 

Mountain  on  his  trunk, 

Ocean  on  his  head. 


6o  BALLADS  AND  POEMS 

VII. 
Clamped  to  couch,  his  fiery  hearing  sucked 

Whispers  that  at  heart  made  iron-clang  : 

Here  fool-women  clucked, 

There  men  held  harangue. 

VIII. 

Burial  to  fit  their  lord  of  war, 

They  decreed  him  :  hailed  the  kingling  :  ha  ! 
Hateful !  but  this  Thor 
Failed  a  weak  lamb's  baa. 

IX. 

King  they  hailed  a  branchlet,  shaped  to  fare, 
Weighted  so,  like  quaking  shingle  spume, 

When  his  blood's  own  heir 

Ripened  in  the  womb  ! 

X. 

Still  he  heard,  and  doglike,  hoglike,  ran 
Nose  of  hearing  till  his  blind  sight  saw  : 

Woman  stood  with  man 

Mouthing  low,  at  paw. 


KING  HARALD'S  TRANCE  6i 

XI. 
Woman,  man,  they  mouthed ;  they  spake  a  thing 

Armed  to  split  a  mountain,  sunder  seas  : 

Still  the  frozen  king 

Lay  and  felt  him  freeze. 

XII. 

Doglike,  hoglike,  horselike  now  he  raced. 
Riderless,  in  ghost  across  a  ground 

Flint  of  breast,  blank-faced, 

Past  the  fleshly  bound. 

XIII. 

Smell  of  brine  his  nostrils  filled  with  might : 
Nostrils  quickened  eyelids,  eyelids  hand : 
Hand  for  sword  at  right 
Groped,  the  great  haft  spanned. 

XIV. 

AVonder  struck  to  ice  his  people's  eyes  : 
Him  they  saw,  the  prone  upon  the  bier, 

Sheer  from  backbone  rise. 

Sword  uplifting  peer. 


62  BALLADS  AND  POEMS 

XV. 

Sitting  did  he  breathe  against  the  blade, 

Standing  kiss  it  for  that  proof  of  life  : 
Strode,  as  netters  wade. 
Straightway  to  his  wife. 

XVI. 

Her  he  eyed :  his  judgement  was  one  word, 
Foulbed  !  and  she  fell :  the  blow  clove  two. 

Fearful  for  the  third, 

All  their  breath  indrew. 

XVII. 

Morning  danced  along  the  waves  to  beach ; 
Dumb  his  chiefs  fetched  breath  for  what  might  hap : 

Glassily  on  each 

Stared  the  iron  cap. 

XVIII. 

Sudden,  as  it  were  a  monster  oak 
Split  to  yield  a  limb  by  stress  of  heat. 

Strained  he,  staggered,  broke 

Doubled  at  their  feet. 


WHIMPER  OF  SYMPATHY  63 


WHIMPER  OF  SYMPATHY 

Hawk  or  shrike  has  done  this  deed 
Of  downy  feathers  :  rueful  sight ! 
Sweet  sentimentalist,  invite 
Your  bosom's  Power  to  intercede. 

So  hard  it  seems  that  one  must  bleed 
Because  another  needs  will  bite  ! 
All  round  we  find  cold  Nature  slight 
The  feelings  of  the  totter-knee'd. 


64  BALLADS  AND  POEMS 

O  it  were  pleasant,  with  you 

To  fly  from  this  tussle  of  foes, 

The  shambles,  the  charnel,  the  wrinkle  ! 

To  dwell  in  yon  dribble  of  dew 

On  the  cheek  of  your  sovereign  rose. 

And  live  the  young  life  of  a  twinkle. 


YOUNG  REYNARD  65 


YOUNG  REYNARD 


Gracefullest  leaper,  the  dappled  fox-cub 
Curves  over  brambles  with  berries  and  buds, 
Light  as  a  bubble  that  flies  from  the  tub, 
Whisked  by  the  laundry-wife  out  of  her  suds. 
Wavy  he  comes,  woolly,  all  at  his  ease, 
Elegant,  fashioned  to  foot  with  the  deuce ; 
Nature's  own  prince  of  the  dance  :  then  he  sees 
Me,  and  retires  as  if  making  excuse. 


66  BALLADS  AND  POEMS 

II, 

Never  closed  minuet  courtlier  !     Soon 
Cub-hunting  troops  were  abroad,  and  a  yelp 
Told  of  sure  scent :  ere  the  stroke  upon  noon 
Reynard  the  younger  lay  far  beyond  help. 
Wild,  my  poor  friend,  has  the  fate  to  be  chased ; 
Civil  will  conquer  :  were  'tother  'twere  worse. 
Fair,  by  the  flushed  early  morning  embraced, 
Haply  you  live  a  day  longer  in  verse. 


MANFRED  67 


MANFRED 

Projected  from  the  bilious  Childe, 

This  clatterjaw  his  foot  could  set 

On  Alps,  without  a  breast  beguiled 

To  glow  in  shedding  rascal  sweat. 

Somewhere  about  his  grinder  teeth, 

He  mouthed  of  thoughts  that  grilled  beneath. 

And  summoned  Nature  to  her  feud 

With  bile  &  buskin  Attitude. 


68  BALLADS  AND  POEMS 


11. 


Considerably  was  the  world 

Of  spinsterdom  and  clergy  racked 

While  he  his  hinted  horrors  hurled, 

And  she  pictorially  attacked. 

A  duel  hugeous  !     Tragic  ?     Ho  ! 

The  cities,  not  the  mountains,  blow 

Such  bladders ;  in  their  shapes  confessed 

An  after-dinner's  indigest. 


HERNANI  69 


HERNANI 

Cistercians  might  crack  their  sides 
With  laughter,  and  exemption  get, 
At  sight  of  heroes  clasping  brides. 
And  hearing — O  the  horn  !  the  horn  ! 
The  horn  of  their  obstructive  debt ! 

But  quit  the  stage,  that  note  applies 
For  sermons  cosmopolitan, 
Hernani.     Have  we  filched  our  prize, 
Forgetting  .  .  .  ?      O  the  horn  !  the  horn  ! 
The  horn  of  the  Old  Gentleman  ! 


70  BALLADS  AND  POEMS 


THE  NUPTIALS  OF  ATTILA 


Flat  as  to  an  eagle's  eye, 

Earth  hung  under  Attila. 


Sign  for  carnage  gave  he  none. 


In  the  peace  of  his  disdain, 
Sun  and  rain,  and  rain  and  sun. 
Cherished  men  to  wax  again, 
Crawl,  and  in  their  manner  die. 
On  his  people  stood  a  frost. 
Like  the  charger  cut  in  stone. 
Rearing  stiff,  the  warrior  host, 
Which  had  life  from  him  alone, 


THE  NUPTIALS  OF  ATTILA  71 

Craved  the  trumpet's  eager  note, 
As  the  bridled  earth  the  Spring. 
Rusty  was  the  trumpet's  throat. 
He  let  chief  and  prophet  rave  ; 
Venturous  earth  around  him  string 
Threads  of  grass  and  slender  rye, 
Wave  them,  and  untrampled  wave. 
O  for  the  time  when  God  did  cry, 
Eye  and  have,  my  Attila  ! 


Scorn  of  conquest  filled  like  sleep 
Him  that  drank  of  havoc  deep 
When  the  Green  Cat  pawed  the  globe : 
When  the  horsemen  from  his  bow 
Shot  in  sheaves  and  made  the  foe 
Crimson  fringes  of  a  robe, 
Trailed  o'er  towns  and  fields  in  woe ; 
When  they  streaked  the  rivers  red. 


72  BALLADS  AND  POEMS 

When  the  saddle  was  the  bed. 
Attila,  my  Attila  ! 


III. 

He  breathed  peace  and  pulled  a  flower. 

Eye  and  have,  my  Attila  ! 
This  was  the  damsel  Ildico, 
Rich  in  bloom  until  that  hour  : 
Shyer  than  the  forest  doe 
Twinkling  slim  through  branches  green. 
Yet  the  shyest  shall  be  seen. 

Make  the  bed  for  Attila  ! 


IV. 

Seen  of  Attila,  desired, 
She  was  led  to  him  straightway  : 
Radiantly  was  she  attired ; 
Rifled  lands  were  her  array. 


THE  NUPTIALS  OF  ATTILA  73 

Jewels  bled  from  weeping  crowns, 
Gold  of  woeful  fields  and  towns. 
She  stood  pallid  in  the  light. 
How  she  walked,  how  withered  white, 
From  the  blessing  to  the  board, 
She  who  should  have  proudly  blushed, 
Women  whispered,  asking  why, 
Hinting  of  a  youth,  and  hushed. 
Was  it  terror  of  her  lord  ? 
Was  she  childish  ?  was  she  sly  ? 
Was  it  the  bright  mantle's  dye 
Drained  her  blood  to  hues  of  grief 
Like  the  ash  that  shoots  the  spark  ? 
See  the  green  tree  all  in  leaf: 
See  the  green  tree  stripped  of  bark  !  — 
Make  the  bed  for  Attila  ! 


74  BALLADS  AND  POEMS 

V. 
Round  the  banquet-table's  load 
Scores  of  iron  horsemen  rode  ; 
Chosen  warriors,  keen  and  hard  ; 
Grain  of  threshing  battle-dints  ; 
Attila's  fierce  body-guard, 
Smelling  war  like  fire  in  flints. 
Grant  them  peace  be  fugitive  ! 
Iron-capped  and  iron-heeled. 
Each  against  his  fellow's  shield 
Smote  the  spear-head,  shouting,  Live, 

Attila  !  my  Attila  ! 
Eagle,  eagle  of  our  breed, 
Eagle,  beak  the  lamb,  and  feed  ! 
Have  her,  and  unleash  us  !  live, 

Attila  !  my  Attila  ! 

VI. 

He  was  of  the  blood  to  shine 
Bronze  in  joy,  like  skies  that  scorch. 


THE  NUPTIALS  OF  ATTILA  75 

Beaming  with  the  goblet  wine 
In  the  wavering  of  the  torch, 
Looked  he  backward  on  his  bride. 

Eye  and  have,  my  Attila  ! 
Fair  in  her  wide  robe  was  she  : 
Where  the  robe  and  vest  divide. 
Fair  she  seemed  surpassingly  : 
Soft,  yet  vivid  as  the  stream 
Danube  rolls  in  the  moonbeam 
Through  rock-barriers  :  but  she  smiled 
Never,  she  sat  cold  as  salt : 
Open-mouthed  as  a  young  child 
Wondering  with  a  mind  at  fault. 

Make  the  bed  for  Attila  ! 


VII. 

Under  the  thin  hoop  of  gold 
Whence  in  waves  her  hair  outrolled, 
'Twixt  her  brows  the  women  saw 


76  BALLADS  AND  P0P:MS 

Shadows  of  a  vulture's  claw 
Gript  in  flight :  strange  knots  that  sped 
Closing  and  dissolving  aye  : 
Such  as  wicked  dreams  betray 
When  pale  dawn  creeps  o'er  the  bed. 
They  might  show  the  common  pang 
Known  to  virgins,  in  whom  dread 
Hunts  their  bliss  like  famished  hounds ; 
While  the  chiefs  with  roaring  rounds 
Tossed  her  to  her  lord,  and  sang 
Praise  of  him  whose  hand  was  large, 
Cheers  for  beauty  brought  to  yield, 
Chirrups  of  the  trot  afield. 
Hurrahs  of  the  battle-charge. 


VIII. 


Those  rock-faces  hung  with  weed 
Reddened  :  their  great  days  of  speed, 


THE  NUPTIALS  OF  ATTILA  77 

Slaughter,  triumph,  flood  and  flame, 
Like  a  jealous  frenzy  wrought, 
Scofied  at  them  and  did  them  shame, 
Quaffing  idle,  conquering  naught. 
O  for  the  time  when  God  decreed 

Earth  the  prey  of  Attila  ! 
God  called  on  thee  in  his  wTath, 
Trample  it  to  mire  !     'Twas  done. 
Swift  as  Danube  clove  our  path 
Down  from  East  to  Western  sun. 
Huns  !  behold  your  pasture,  gaze, 
Take,  our  king  said  :  heel  to  flank 
(Whisper  it,  the  warhorse  neighs  !) 
Forth  we  drove,  and  blood  we  drank 
Fresh  as  dawn-dew  :  earth  was  ours  : 
Men  were  flocks  we  lashed  and  spurned  : 
Fast  as  windy  flame  devours, 
Flame  along  the  wind,  we  burned. 
Arrow,  javelin,  spear,  and  sword  ! 
Here  the  snows  and  there  the  plains ; 


78  BALLADS  AND  POEMS 

On  !  our  signal :  onward  poured 
Torrents  of  the  tightened  reins, 
Foaming  over  vine  and  corn 
Hot  against  the  city-wall. 
Whisper  it,  you  sound  a  horn 
To  the  grey  beast  in  the  stall ! 
Yea,  he  whinnies  at  a  nod. 
O  for  sound  of  the  trumpet-notes  ! 
O  for  the  time  when  thunder-shod, 
He  that  scarce  can  munch  his  oats. 
Hung  on  the  peaks,  brooded  aloof. 
Champed  the  grain  of  the  wrath  of  God, 
Pressed  a  cloud  on  the  cowering  roof, 
Snorted  out  of  the  blackness  fire  ! 
Scarlet  broke  the  sky,  and  down, 
Hammering  West  with  print  of  his  hoof, 
He  burst  out  of  the  bosom  of  ire 
Sharp  as  eyelight  under  thy  frown, 
Attila,  my  Attila ! 


THE  NUPTIALS  OF  ATTILA  79 

IX. 

Ravaged  cities  rolling  smoke 
Thick  on  cornfields  dry  and  black, 
Wave  his  banners,  bear  his  yoke. 
Track  the  lightning,  and  you  track 
Attila.     They  moan  :  'tis  he  ! 
Bleed  :  'tis  he  !     Beneath  his  foot 
Leagues  are  deserts  charred  and  mute ; 
Where  he  passed,  there  passed  a  sea. 
Attila,  my  Attila  ! 

X. 

— Who  breathed  on  the  king  cold  breath  ? 
Said  a  voice  amid  the  host. 
He  is  Death  that  weds  a  ghost, 
Else  a  ghost  that  weds  with  Death  ? 
Ildico's  chill  little  hand 
Shuddering  he  beheld  :  austere 
Stared,  as  one  who  would  command 
Sight  of  what  has  filled  his  ear  : 


8o  BALLADS  AND  POEMS 

Plucked  his  thin  beard,  laughed  disdain. 
Feast,  ye  Huns  !     His  arm  he  raised, 
Like  the  warrior,  battle-dazed, 
Joining  to  the  fight  amain. 

Make  the  bed  for  Attila ! 


XI. 

Silent  Ildico  stood  up. 
King  and  chief  to  pledge  her  well, 
Shocked  sword  sword  and  cup  on  cup. 
Clamouring  like  a  brazen  bell. 
Silent  stepped  the  queenly  slave. 
Fair,  by  heaven  !  she  was  to  meet 
On  a  midnight,  near  a  grave. 
Flapping  wide  the  winding-sheet. 


XII. 


Death  and  she  walked  through  the  crowd. 


THE  NUPTIALS  OF  ATTILA 

Out  beyond  the  flush  of  hght. 
Ceremonious  women  bowed 
Following  her  :  'twas  middle  night. 
Then  the  warriors  each  on  each 
Spied,  nor  overloudly  laughed ; 
Like  the  victims  of  the  leech, 
Who  have  drunk  of  a  strange  draught. 


XIII. 

Attila  remained.     Even  so 
Frowned  he  when  he  struck  the  blow, 
Brained  his  horse  that  stumbled  twice 
On  a  bloody  day  in  Gaul, 
Bellowing,  Perish  omens  !     All 
Marvelled  at  the  sacrifice. 
But  the  battle,  swinging  dim. 
Rang  off  that  axe-blow  for  him 
Attila,  my  Attila ! 

G 


82  BALLADS  AND  POEMS 

XIV. 

Brightening  over  Danube  wheeled 
Star  by  star ;  and  she,  most  fair, 
Sweet  as  victory  half-revealed. 
Seized  to  make  him  glad  and  young ; 
She,  O  sweet  as  the  dark  sign 
Given  him  oft  in  battles  gone, 
When  the  voice  within  said,  Dare  ! 
And  the  trumpet-notes  were  sprung 
Rapturous  for  the  charge  in  line  : 
She  lay  waiting :  fair  as  dawn 
Wrapped  in  folds  of  night  she  lay ; 
Secret,  lustrous ;  flaglike  there. 
Waiting  him  to  stream  and  ray. 
With  one  loosening  blush  outflung. 
Colours  of  his  hordes  of  horse 
Ranked  for  combat :  still  he  hung 
Like  the  fever  dreading  air. 
Cursed  of  heat ;  and  as  a  corse 
Gathers  vultures,  in  his  brain 


THE  NUPTIALS  OF  ATTILA  83 

Images  of  her  eyes  and  kiss 
Plucked  at  the  hmbs  that  could  remain 
Loitering  nigh  the  doors  of  bliss. 
Make  the  bed  for  Attila  ! 

XV. 

Passion  on  one  hand,  on  one, 
Destiny  led  forth  the  Hun. 
Heard  ye  outcries  of  affright. 
Voices  that  through  many  a  fray, 
In  the  press  of  flag  and  spear, 
Warned  the  king  of  peril  near  ? 
Men  were  dumb,  they  gave  him  way, 
Eager  heads  to  left  and  right. 
Like  the  bearded  standard,  thrust, 
As  in  battle,  for  a  nod 
From  their  lord  of  battle-dust. 

Attila,  my  Attila ! 
Slow  between  the  lines  he  trod. 
Saw  ye  not  the  sun  drop  slow 


BALLADS  AND  POEMS 

On  this  nuptial  day,  ere  eve 
Pierced  him  on  the  couch  aglow  ? 

Attila,  my  Attila  ! 
Here  and  there  his  heart  would  cleave 
Clotted  memory  for  a  space  : 
Some  stout  chief's  familiar  face, 
Choicest  of  his  fighting  brood. 
Touched  him,  as  'twere  one  to  know 
Ere  he  met  his  bride's  embrace. 

Attila,  my  Attila  ! 
Twisting  fingers  in  a  beard 
Scant  as  winter  underwood, 
With  a  narrowed  eye  he  peered ; 
Like  the  sunset's  graver  red 
Up  old  pine-stems.     Grave  he  stood 
Eyeing  them  on  whom  was  shed 
Burning  light  from  him  alone. 

Attila,  my  Attila  ! 
Red  were  they  whose  mouths  recalled 
Where  the  slaughter  mounted  high, 


THE  NUPTIALS  OF  ATTILA  85 

High  on  it,  o'er  earth  appalled, 
He ;  heaven's  finger  in  their  sight 
Raising  him  on  waves  of  dead  : 
Up  to  heaven  his  trumpets  blown. 
O  for  the  time  when  God's  delight 

Crowned  the  head  of  Attila  ! 
Hungry  river  of  the  crag 
Stretching  hands  for  earth  he  came  : 
Force  and  Speed  astride  his  name 
Pointed  back  to  spear  and  flag. 
He  came  out  of  miracle  cloud, 
Lightning-swift  and  spectre-lean. 
Now  those  days  are  in  a  shroud  : 
Have  him  to  his  ghostly  queen. 

Make  the  bed  for  Attila  ! 


XVI. 

One,  with  winecups  overstrung, 
Cried  him  farewell  in  Rome's  tongue. 


86  BALLADS  AND  POEMS 

Who  ?  for  the  great  king  turned  as  though 

Wrath  to  the  shaft's  head  strained  the  bow. 

Nay,  not  wrath  the  king  possessed, 

But  a  radiance  of  the  breast. 

In  that  sound  he  had  the  key 

Of  his  cunning  malady. 

Lo,  where  gleamed  the  sapphire  lake, 

Leo,  with  his  Rome  at  stake, 

Drew  blank  air  to  hues  and  forms ; 

Whereof  Two  that  shone  distinct, 

Linked  as  orbed  stars  are  linked, 

Clear  among  the  myriad  swarms. 

In  a  constellation,  dashed 

Full  on  horse  and  rider's  eyes 

Sunless  light,  but  light  it  was— 

Light  that  blinded  and  abashed, 

Froze  his  members,  bade  him  pause. 

Caught  him  mid-gallop,  blazed  him  home. 

Attila,  my  Attila  ! 
What  are  streams  that  cease  to  flow  ? 


THE  NUPTIALS  OF  ATTILA  87 

What  was  Attila,  rolled  thence, 
Cheated  by  a  juggler's  show  ? 
Like  that  lake  of  blue  intense, 
Under  tempest  lashed  to  foam, 
Lurid  radiance,  as  he  passed. 
Filled  him,  and  around  was  glassed. 
When  deep-voiced  he  uttered,  Rome  ! 


Rome  !  the  word  was  :  and  like  meat 
Flung  to  dogs  the  word  was  torn. 
Soon  Rome's  magic  priests  shall  bleat 
Round  their  magic  Pope  forlorn  ! 
Loud  they  swore  the  king  had  sworn 
Vengeance  on  the  Roman  cheat. 
Ere  he  passed  as,  grave  and  still, 
Danube  through  the  shouting  hill : 
Sworn  it  by  his  naked  life  ! 


88  BALLADS  AND  POEMS 

Eagle,  snakes  these  women  are  : 
Take  them  on  the  wing  !  but  war, 
Smoking  war's  the  warrior's  wife  ! 
Then  for  plunder  !  then  for  brides 
Won  without  a  winking  priest ! — 
Danube  whirled  his  train  of  tides 
Black  toward  the  yellow  East. 
Make  the  bed  for  Attila  ! 


Chirrups  of  the  trot  afield, 
Hurrahs  of  the  battle-charge. 
How  they  answered,  how  they  pealed, 
When  the  morning  rose  and  drew 
Bow  and  javelin,  lance  and  targe. 
In  the  nuptial  casement's  view  ! 

Attila,  my  Attila ! 
Down  the  hillspurs,  out  of  tents 
Glimmering  in  mid-forest,  through 


THE  NUPTIALS  OF  ATTILA 

Mists  of  the  cool  morning  scents, 
Forth  from  city-alley,  court. 
Arch,  the  bounding  horsemen  flew. 
Joined  along  the  plains  of  dew, 
Raced  and  gave  the  rein  to  sport. 
Closed  and  streamed  like  curtain-rents 
Fluttered  by  a  wind,  and  flowed 
Into  squadrons  :  trumpets  blew, 
Chargers  neighed,  and  trappings  glowed 
Brave  as  the  bright  Orient's. 
Look  on  the  seas  that  run  to  greet 
Sunrise  :  look  on  the  leagues  of  wheat : 
Look  on  the  lines  and  squares  that  fret 
Leaping  to  level  the  lance  blood-wet. 
Tens  of  thousands,  man  and  steed, 
Tossing  like  field-flowers  in  Spring ; 
Ready  to  be  hurled  at  need 
Whither  their  great  lord  may  sling. 
Finger  Romeward,  Romeward,  King  ! 
Attila,  my  Attila  ! 


90  BALLADS  AND  POEMS 

Still  the  woman  holds  him  fast 
As  a  night-flag  round  the  mast. 

XIX. 

Nigh  upon  the  fiery  noon, 
Out  of  ranks  a  roaring  burst. 
'Ware  white  women  like  the  moon  ! 
They  are  poison  :  they  have  thirst 
First  for  love,  and  next  for  rule. 
Jealous  of  the  army,  she  ? 
Ho,  the  little  wanton  fool ! 
We  were  his  before  she  squealed 
Blind  for  mother's  milk,  and  heeled 
Kicking  on  her  mother's  knee. 
His  in  life  and  death  are  we : 
She  but  one  flower  of  a  field. 
We  have  given  him  bUss  tenfold 
In  an  hour  to  match  her  night : 

Attila,  my  Attila  ! 
Still  her  arms  the  master  hold, 
As  on  wounds  the  scarf  winds  tight. 


THE  NUPTIALS  OF  ATTILA  91 

XX. 

Over  Danube  day  no  more, 
Like  the  warrior's  planted  spear, 
Stood  to  hail  the  King  :  in  fear 
Western  day  knocked  at  his  door. 

Attila,  my  Attila  ! 
Sudden  in  the  army's  eyes 
Rolled  a  blast  of  lights  and  cries : 
Flashing  through  them  :  Dead  are  ye  ! 
Dead,  ye  Huns,  and  torn  piecemeal ! 
See  the  ordered  army  reel 
Stricken  through  the  ribs  :  and  see, 
Wild  for  speed  to  cheat  despair. 
Horsemen,  clutching  knee  to  chin, 
Crouch  and  dart  they  know  not  where. 

Attila,  my  Attila  ! 
Faces  covered,  faces  bare, 
Light  the  palace-front  like  jets 
Of  a  dreadful  fire  within. 


92  BALLADS  AND  POEMS 

Beating  hands  and  driving  hair 
Start  on  roof  and  parapets. 
Dust  rolls  up ;  the  slaughter  din. 
— Death  to  them  who  call  him  dead  ! 
Death  to  them  who  doubt  the  tale  ! 
Choking  in  his  dusty  veil, 
Sank  the  sun  on  his  death-bed. 
Make  the  bed  for  Attila  ! 


XXI. 

'Tis  the  room  where  thunder  sleeps. 
Frenzy,  as  a  wave  to  shore 
Surging,  burst  the  silent  door. 
And  drew  back  to  awful  deeps. 
Breath  beaten  out,  foam-white.     Anew 
Howled  and  pressed  the  ghastly  crew. 
Like  storm-waters  over  rocks. 

Attila,  my  Attila ! 
One  long  shaft  of  sunset  red 


THE  NUPTIALS  OF  ATTILA  93 

Laid  a  finger  on  the  bed. 
Horror,  with  the  snaky  locks, 
Shocked  the  surge  to  stiffened  heaps, 
Hoary  as  the  glacier's  head 
Faced  to  the  moon.     Insane  they  look. 
God  it  is  in  heaven  who  weeps 
Fallen  from  his  hand  the  Scourge  he  shook. 
Make  the  bed  for  Attila  ! 


Square  along  the  couch,  and  stark, 
Like  the  sea-rejected  thing 
Sea-sucked  white,  behold  their  King. 

Attila,  my  Attila  ! 
Beams  that  panted  black  and  bright. 
Scornful  lightnings  danced  their  sight 
Him  they  see  an  oak  in  bud. 
Him  an  oaklog  stripped  of  bark  : 
Him,  their  lord  of  day  and  night. 


94  BALLADS  AND  POEMS 

White,  and  lifting  up  his  blood 
Dumb  for  vengeance.     Name  us  that, 
Huddled  in  the  corner  dark, 
Humped  and  grinning  like  a  cat, 
Teeth  for  lips  ! — 'tis  she  !  she  stares. 
Glittering  through  her  bristled  hairs. 
Rend  her  !     Pierce  her  to  the  hilt ! 
She  is  Murder  :  have  her  out ! 
What !  this  little  fist,  as  big 
As  the  southern  summer  fig  ! 
She  is  Madness,  none  may  doubt. 
Death,  who  dares  deny  her  guilt ! 
Death,  who  says  his  blood  she  spilt ! 
Make  the  bed  for  Attila  ! 

XXIII. 

Torch  and  lamp  and  sunset-red 
Fell  three-fingered  on  the  bed. 
In  the  torch  the  beard-hair  scant 
With  the  great  breast  seemed  to  pant : 


THE  NUPTIALS  OF  ATTILA  95 

In  the  yellow  lamp  the  limbs 
Wavered,  as  the  lake-flower  swims : 
In  the  sunset  red  the  dead 
Dead  avowed  him,  dry  blood-red. 


XXIV. 

Hatred  of  that  abject  slave. 
Earth,  was  in  each  chieftain's  heart. 
Earth  has  got  him,  whom  God  gave, 
Earth  may  sing,  and  earth  shall  smart ! 
Attila,  my  Attila  ! 


XXV. 

Thus  their  prayer  was  raved  and  ceased. 
Then  had  Vengeance  of  her  feast 
Scent  in  their  quick  pang  to  smite 
Which  they  knew  not,  but  huge  pain 
Urged  them  for  some  victim  slain 


96  BALLADS  AND  POEMS 

Swift,  and  blotted  from  the  sight. 
Each  at  each,  a  crouching  beast, 
Glared,  and  quivered  for  the  word. 
Each  at  each,  and  all  on  that. 
Humped  and  grinning  like  a  cat. 
Head-bound  with  its  bridal-wreath. 
Then  the  bitter  chamber  heard 
Vengeance  in  a  cauldron  seethe. 
Hurried  counsel  rage  and  craft 
Yelped  to  hungry  men,  whose  teeth 
Hard  the  grey  lip-ringlet  gnawed, 
Gleaming  till  their  fury  laughed. 
AVith  the  steel-hilt  in  the  clutch, 
Eyes  were  shot  on  her  that  froze 
In  their  blood-thirst  overawed  ; 
Burned  to  rend,  yet  feared  to  touch. 
She  that  was  his  nuptial  rose, 
She  was  of  his  heart's  blood  clad  : 
Oh  !  the  last  of  him  she  had  ! — • 
Could  a  little  fist  as  big 


THE  NUPTIALS  OF  ATTILA  97 

As  the  southern  summer  fig, 

Push  a  dagger's  point  to  pierce 

Ribs  hke  those  ?     Who  else  !     They  glared 

Each  at  each.     Suspicion  fierce 

Many  a  black  remembrance  bared. 

Attila,  my  Attila  ! 
Death,  who  dares  deny  her  guilt ! 
Death,  who  says  his  blood  she  spilt ! 
Traitor  he,  who  stands  between  ! 
Swift  to  hell,  who  harms  the  Queen  ! 
She,  the  wild  contention's  cause. 
Combed  her  hair  with  quiet  paws. 

Make  the  bed  for  Attila  ! 


XXVI. 

Night  was  on  the  host  in  arms. 
Night,  as  never  night  before, 
Hearkened  to  an  army's  roar 
Breaking  up  in  snaky  swarms  : 


98  BALLADS  AND  POEMS 

Torch  and  steel  and  snorting  steed, 
Hunted  by  the  cry  of  blood, 
Cursed  with  blindness,  mad  for  day. 
Where  the  torches  ran  a  flood. 
Tales  of  him  and  of  the  deed 
Showered  like  a  torrent  spray. 
Fear  of  silence  made  them  strive 
Loud  in  warrior-hymns  that  grew 
Hoarse  for  slaughter  yet  unwreaked. 
Ghostly  Night  across  the  hive. 
With  a  crimson  finger  drew 
Letters  on  her  breast  and  shrieked. 
Night  was  on  them  like  the  mould 
On  the  buried  half  alive. 
Night,  their  bloody  Queen,  her  fold 
Wound  on  them  and  struck  them  through. 
Make  the  bed  for  Attila  ! 

XXVII. 

Earth  has  got  him  whom  God  gave. 
Earth  may  sing,  and  earth  shall  smart ! 


THE  NUPTIALS  OF  ATTILA  99 

None  of  earth  shall  know  his  grave. 
They  that  dig  with  Death  depart. 
Attila,  my  Attila  ! 

XXVIII. 

Thus  their  prayer  was  raved  and  passed  : 
Passed  in  peace  their  red  sunset : 
Hewn  and  earthed  those  men  of  sweat 
Who  had  housed  him  in  the  vast, 
Where  no  mortal  might  declare, 
There  lies  he — his  end  was  there  ! 
Attila,  my  Attila  ! 

XXIX. 

Kingless  was  the  army  left : 
Of  its  head  the  race  bereft. 
Every  fury  of  the  pit 
Tortured  and  dismembered  it. 
Lo,  upon  a  silent  hour, 
When  the  pitch  of  frost  subsides, 
Danube  with  a  shout  of  power 


BALLADS  AND  POEMS 

Loosens  his  imprisoned  tides  : 
Wide  around  the  frighted  plains 
Shake  to  hear  his  riven  chains, 
Dreadfuller  than  heaven  in  wrath, 
As  he  makes  himself  a  path  : 
High  leap  the  ice-cracks,  towering  pile 
Floes  to  bergs,  and  giant  peers 
Wrestle  on  a  drifted  isle ; 
Island  on  ice-island  rears  ; 
Dissolution  battles  fast : 
Big  the  senseless  Titans  loom. 
Through  a  mist  of  common  doom 
Striving  which  shall  die  the  last : 
Till  a  gentle-breathing  morn 
Frees  the  stream  from  bank  to  bank. 
So  the  Empire  built  of  scorn 
Agonized,  dissolved  and  sank. 
Of  the  Queen  no  more  was  told 
Than  of  leaf  on  Danube  rolled. 
Make  the  bed  for  Attila  ! 


ANEURIN'S  HARP 


ANEURIN'S   HARP 


Prince  of  Bards  was  old  Aneurin  ; 
He  the  grand  Gododin  sang ; 
All  his  numbers  threw  such  fire  in, 
Struck  his  harp  so  wild  a  twang ; — 
Still  the  wakeful  Briton  borrows 
Wisdom  from  its  ancient  heat : 
Still  it  haunts  our  source  of  sorrows, 
Deep  excess  of  liquor  sweet ! 


BALLADS  AND  POEMS 

II. 

Here  the  Briton,  there  the  Saxon, 
Face  to  face,  three  fields  apart. 
Thirst  for  Ught  to  lay  their  thwacks  on 
Each  the  other  with  good  heart. 
Dry  the  Saxon  sits,  'mid  dinful 
Noise  of  iron  knits  his  steel : 
Fresh  and  roaring  with  a  skinful, 
Britons  round  the  hirlas  reel. 


Yellow  flamed  the  meady  sunset ; 
Red  runs  up  the  flag  of  morn. 
Signal  for  the  British  onset 
Hiccups  through  the  British  horn. 
Down  these  hillmen  pour  like  cattle 
Sniffing  pasture  :  grim  below. 
Showing  eager  teeth  of  battle 
In  his  spear-heads  lies  the  foe. 


ANEURIN'S  HARP  io3 

IV. 

-Monster  of  the  sea  !  we  drive  him 

Back  into  his  hungry  brine. 
-You  shall  lodge  him,  feed  him,  wive  him. 

Look  on  us ;  we  stand  in  line. 
-Pale  sea-monster  !  foul  the  waters 

Cast  him ;  foul  he  leaves  our  land. 
-You  shall  yield  us  land  and  daughters  : 

Stay  the  tongue,  and  try  the  hand. 


V. 

Swift  as  torrent-streams  our  warriors, 
Tossing  torrent  Ughts,  find  way  ; 
Burst  the  ridges,  crowd  the  barriers. 
Pierce  them  where  the  spear-heads  play ; 
Turn  them  as  the  clods  in  furrow. 
Top  them  like  the  leaping  foam  ; 
Sorrow  to  the  mother,  sorrow. 
Sorrow  to  the  wife  at  home  ! 


104  BALLADS  AND  POEMS 

VI. 

Stags,  they  butted ;  bulls,  they  bellowed ; 
Hounds,  we  baited  them ;  oh,  brave  ! 
Every  second  man,  unfellowed, 
Took  the  strokes  of  two,  and  gave. 
Bare  as  hop-stakes  in  November's 
Mists  they  met  our  battle-flood  : 
Hoary-red  as  Winter's  embers 
Lay  their  dead  lines  done  in  blood. 


VII. 

Thou,  my  Bard,  didst  hang  thy  lyre  in 
Oak-leaves,  and  with  crimson  brand 
Rhythmic  fury  spent,  Aneurin  ; 
Songs  the  churls  could  understand  : 
Thrumming  on  their  Saxon  sconces 
Straight,  the  invariable  blow, 
Till  they  snorted  true  responses. 
Ever  thus  the  Bard  they  know  ! 


ANEURIN'S  HARP  105 

VIII. 

But  ere  nightfall,  harper  lusty  ! 
When  the  sun  was  like  a  ball 
Dropping  on  the  battle  dusty, 
What  was  yon  discordant  call  ? 
Cambria's  old  metheglin  demon 
Breathed  against  our  rushing  tide ; 
Clove  us  midst  the  threshing  seamen  : — 
Gashed,  we  saw  our  ranks  divide  ! 


IX. 

Britain  then  with  valedictory 
Shriek  veiled  off  her  face  and  knelt. 
Full  of  liquor,  full  of  victory. 
Chief  on  chief  old  vengeance  dealt. 
Backward  swung  their  hurly-burly ; 
None  but  dead  men  kept  the  fight. 
They  that  drink  their  cup  too  early. 
Darkness  they  shall  see  ere  night. 


io6  BALLADS  AND  POEMS 

X. 

Loud  we  heard  the  yellow  rover 
Laugh  to  sleep,  while  we  raged  thick, 
Thick  as  ants  the  ant-hill  over, 
Asking  who  has  thrust  the  stick. 
Lo,  as  frogs  that  Winter  cumbers 
Meet  the  Spring  with  stiffen'd  yawn. 
We  from  our  hard  night  of  slumbers, 
Marched  into  the  bloody  dawn. 


XI. 

Day  on  day  we  fought,  though  shattered ; 

Pushed  and  met  repulses  sharp, 

Till  our  Raven's  plumes  were  scattered  : 

All,  save  old  Aneurin's  harp. 

Hear  it  wailing  like  a  mother 

O'er  the  strings  of  children  slain  ! 

He  in  one  tongue,  in  another, 

Alien,  I ;  one  blood,  yet  twain. 


ANEURIN'S  HARP  107 

XII. 

Old  Aneurin  !  droop  no  longer. 
That  squat  ocean-scum,  we  own, 
Had  fine  stoutness,  made  us  stronger, 
Brought  us  much-required  backbone  : 
Claim'd  of  Power  their  dues,  and  granted 
Dues  to  Power  in  turn,  when  rose 
Mightier  rovers  ;  they  that  planted 
Sovereign  here  the  Norman  nose. 


XIII. 

Glorious  men,  with  heads  of  eagles. 
Chopping  arms,  and  cupboard  lips  ; 
Warriors,  hunters,  keen  as  beagles, 
Mounted  aye  on  horse  or  ships. 
Active,  being  hungry  creatures  ; 
Silent,  having  nought  to  say  : 
High  they  raised  the  lord  of  features, 
Saxon-worshipped  to  this  day. 


io8  BALLADS  AND  POEMS 

XIV. 

Hear  its  deeds,  the  great  recital ! 
Stout  as  bergs  of  Arctic  ice 
Once  it  led,  and  lived ;  a  title 
Now  it  is,  and  names  its  price. 
This  our  Saxon  brothers  cherish  : 
This,  when  by  the  worth  of  wits 
Lands  are  reared  aloft,  or  perish, 
Sole  illumes  their  lucre-pits. 


XV. 

Know  we  not  our  wrongs,  unwritten 
Though  they  be,  Aneurin  ?     Sword, 
Song,  and  subtle  mind,  the  Briton 
Brings  to  market,  all  ignored. 
'Gainst  the  Saxon's  bone  impinging, 
Still  is  our  Gododin  played ; 
Shamed  we  see  him  humbly  cringing 
In  a  shadowy  nose's  shade. 


ANEURIN'S  HARP  109 

XVI. 

Bitter  is  the  weight  that  crushes 
Low,  my  Bard,  thy  race  of  fire. 
Here  no  fair  young  future  blushes 
Bridal  to  a  man's  desire. 
Neither  chief,  nor  aim,  nor  splendour 
Dressing  distance,  we  perceive ; 
Neither  honour,  nor  the  tender 
Bloom  of  promise,  morn  or  eve. 


XVII. 

Joined  we  are ;  a  tide  of  races 
Rolled  to  meet  a  common  fate ; 
England  clasps  in  her  embraces 
Many  :  what  is  England's  state  ? 
England  her  distended  middle 
Thumps  with  pride  as  Mammon's  wife  ; 
Says  that  thus  she  reads  thy  riddle. 
Heaven  !  'tis  heaven  to  plump  her  life. 


BALLADS  AND  POEMS 

XVIII. 

O  my  Bard  !  a  yellow  liquor, 
Like  to  that  we  drank  of  old — 
Gold  is  her  metheglin  beaker, 
She  destruction  drinks  in  gold. 
Warn  her.  Bard,  that  Power  is  pressing 
Hotly  for  his  dues  this  hour ; 
Tell  her  that  no  drunken  blessing 
Stops  the  onward  march  of  Power. 


XIX. 

Has  she  ears  to  take  forewarnings 
She  will  cleanse  her  of  her  stains, 
Feed  and  speed  for  braver  mornings 
Valorously  the  growth  of  brains. 
Power,  the  hard  man  knit  for  action, 
Reads  each  nation  on  the  brow. 
Cripple,  fool,  and  petrifaction, 
Fall  to  him — are  falling  now  ! 


FRANCE,  DECEMBER  1S70 


FRANCE,  December   1870 

I. 
We  look  for  her  that  sunlike  stood 
Upon  the  forehead  of  our  day, 
An  orb  of  nations,  radiating  food 

For  body  and  for  mind  alway. 
Where  is  the  Shape  of  glad  array ; 
The  nervous  hands,  the  front  of  steel, 
The  clarion  tongue  ?     Where  is  the  bold  proud  face  ? 
We  see  a  vacant  place ; 
We  hear  an  iron  heel. 

II. 

O  she  that  made  the  brave  appeal 
For  manhood  when  our  time  was  dark, 
And  from  our  fetters  drove  the  spark 


112  BALLADS  AND  POEMS 

Which  was  as  Hghtning  to  reveal 
New  seasons,  with  the  swifter  play 
Of  pulses,  and  benigner  day  ; 
She  that  divinely  shook  the  dead 
From  living  man  ;  that  stretched  ahead 
Her  resolute  forefinger  straight. 
And  marched  toward  the  gloomy  gate 
Of  earth's  Untried,  gave  note,  and  in 
The  good  name  of  Humanity 
Called  forth  the  daring  vision  !  she, 
She  likewise  half  corrupt  of  sin, 
Angel  and  Wanton  !  can  it  be  ? 
Her  star  has  foundered  in  eclipse. 
The  shriek  of  madness  on  her  lips  ; 
Shreds  of  her,  and  no  more,  we  see. 
There  is  horrible  convulsion,  smothered  din. 
As  of  one  that  in  a  grave-cloth  struggles  to  be  free. 

III. 
Look  not  for  spreading  boughs 

On  the  riven  forest  tree. 


FRANCE,  DECEMBER  1S70  113 

Look  down  where  deep  in  blood  and  mire 
Black  thunder  plants  his  feet  and  ploughs 
The  soil  for  ruin  :  that  is  France  : 
Still  thrilHng  like  a  lyre, 
Amazed  to  shivering  discord  from  a  fall 
Sudden  as  that  the  lurid  hosts  recall 
Who  met  in  heaven  the  irreparable  mischance. 
O  that  is  France  ! 
The  brilliant  eyes  to  kindle  bliss, 
The  shrewd  quick  lips  to  laugh  and  kiss, 
Breasts  that  a  sighing  world  inspire, 
And  laughter-dimpled  countenance 
Where  soul  and  senses  caught  desire  ! 

IV. 

Ever  invoking  fire  from  Heaven,  the  fire 
Has  grasped  her,  unconsumeable,  but  framed 
For  all  the  ecstasies  of  suffering  dire. 
Mother  of  Pride,  her  sanctuary  shamed  : 
Mother  of  Delicacy,  and  made  a  mark 


114  BALLADS  AND  POEMS 

For  outrage  :  Mother  of  Luxury,  stripped  stark  : 
Mother  of  Heroes,  bondsmen  :  thro'  the  rains. 
Across  her  boundaries,  lo  the  league-long  chains  ! 
Fond  Mother  of  her  martial  youth ;  they  pass, 
Are  spectres  in  her  sight,  are  mown  as  grass  ! 
Mother  of  Honour,  and  dishonoured  :  Mother 
Of  Glory,  she  condemned  to  crown  with  bays 
Her  victor,  and  be  fountain  of  his  praise. 
Is  there  another  curse  ?     There  is  another : 
Compassionate  her  madness  :  is  she  not 
Mother  of  Reason  ?  she  that  sees  them  mown 
Like  grass,  her  young  ones  !     Yea,  in  the  low  groan 
And  under  the  fixed  thunder  of  this  hour 
Which  holds  the  animate  world  in  one  foul  blot 
Tranced  circumambient  while  relentless  Power 
Beaks  at  her  heart  and  claws  her  limbs  down-thrown. 
She,  with  the  plunging  lightnings  overshot, 
With  madness  for  an  armour  against  pain, 
With  milkless  breasts  for  little  ones  athirst. 
And  round  her  all  her  noblest  dying  in  vain. 


FRANCE,  DECEMBER   1870  115 

Mother  of  Reason  is  she,  trebly  cursed, 

To  feel,  to  see,  to  justify  the  blow ; 

Chamber  to  chamber  of  her  sequent  brain 

Gives  answer  of  the  cause  of  her  great  woe, 

Inexorably  echoing  thro'  the  vaults, 

'  'Tis  thus  they  reap  in  blood,  in  blood  who  sow : 

'  This  is  the  sum  of  self-absolved  faults.' 

Doubt  not  that  thro'  her  grief,  with  sight  supreme. 

Thro'  her  delirium  and  despair's  last  dream. 

Thro'  pride,  thro'  bright  illusion  and  the  brood 

Bewildering  of  her  various  Motherhood, 

The  high  strong  light  within  her,  tho'  she  bleeds, 

Traces  the  letters  of  returned  misdeeds. 

She  sees  what  seed  long  sown,  ripened  of  late, 

Bears  this  fierce  crop ;  and  she  discerns  her  fate 

From  origin  to  agony,  and  on 

As  far  as  the  wave  washes  long  and  wan 

Off  one  disastrous  impulse  :  for  of  waves 

Our  life  is,  and  our  deeds  are  pregnant  graves 

Blown  rolling  to  the  sunset  from  the  dawn. 


ii6  BALLADS  AND  POEMS 

V. 
Ah,  what  a  dawn  of  splendour,  when  her  sowers 
Went  forth  and  bent  the  necks  of  populations, 
And  of  their  terrors  and  humiliations 
Wove  her  the  starry  wreath  that  earthward  lowers 
Now  in  the  figure  of  a  burning  yoke  ! 
Her  legions  traversed  North  and  South  and  East, 
Of  triumph  they  enjoyed  the  glutton's  feast : 
They  grafted  the  green  sprig,  they  lopped  the  oak. 
They  caught  by  the  beard  the  tempests,  by  the  scalp 
The  icy  precipices,  and  clove  sheer  through 
The  heart  of  horror  of  the  pinnacled  Alp, 
Emerging  not  as  men  whom  mortals  knew. 
They  were  the  earthquake  and  the  hurricane, 
The  lightnings  and  the  locusts,  plagues  of  blight, 
Plagues  of  the  revel :  they  were  Deluge  rain. 
And  dreaded  Conflagration ;  lawless  Might. 
Death  writes  a  reeling  line  along  the  snows. 
Where  under  frozen  mists  they  may  be  tracked, 
Who  men  and  elements  provoked  to  foes. 


FRANCE,  DECEMBER  1870  117 

And  Gods  :  they  were  of  God  and  Beast  compact : 
Abhorred  of  all.     Yet,  how  they  sucked  the  teats 
Of  Carnage,  thirsty  issue  of  their  dam, 
Whose  eagles,  angrier  than  their  oriflamme. 
Flushed  the  vext  earth  with  blood,  green  earth  forgets. 
The  gay  young  generations  mask  her  grief; 
Where  bled  her  children  hangs  the  loaded  sheaf. 
Forgetful  is  green  earth  ;  the  Gods  alone 
Remember  everlastingly  :  they  strike 
Remorselessly,  and  ever  like  for  like. 
By  their  great  memories  the  Gods  are  known. 

VI. 

They  are  with  her  now,  and  in  her  ears,  and  known. 
'Tis  they  that  cast  her  to  the  dust  for  Strength, 
Their  slave,  to  feed  on  her  fair  body's  length, 
That  once  the  sweetest  and  the  proudest  shone ; 
Scoring  for  hideous  dismemberment 
Her  limbs,  as  were  the  anguish-taking  breath 
Gone  out  of  her  in  the  insufferable  descent 


ii8  BALLADS  AND  POEMS 

From  her  high  chieftainship ;  as  were  she  death, 

Who  hears  a  voice  of  justice,  feels  the  knife 

Of  torture,  drinks  all  ignominy  of  life. 

They  are  with  her,  and  the  painful  Gods  might  weep, 

If  ever  rain  of  tears  came  out  of  heaven 

To  flatter  Weakness  and  bid  Conscience  sleep, 

Viewing  the  woe  of  this  Immortal,  driven 

For  the  soul's  life  to  drain  the  maddening  cup 

Of  her  own  children's  blood  implacably  : 

Unsparing  even  as  they  to  furrow  up 

The  yellow  land  to  likeness  of  a  sea  : 

The  bountiful  fair  land  of  vine  and  grain. 

Of  wit  and  grace  and  ardour,  and  strong  roots, 

Fruits  perishable,  imperishable  fruits  ; 

Furrowed  to  likeness  of  the  dim  grey  main 

Behind  the  black  obliterating  cyclone. 

VII. 

Behold,  the  Gods  are  with  her,  and  are  known. 
Whom  they  abandon  misery  persecutes 


FRANCE,  DECEMBER  1870  119 

No  more  :  them  half-eyed  apathy  may  loan 

The  happiness  of  pitiable  brutes. 

Whom  the  just  Gods  abandon  have  no  light, 

No  ruthless  light  of  introspective  eyes 

That  in  the  midst  of  misery  scrutinize 

The  heart  and  its  iniquities  outright. 

They  rest,  they  smile  and  rest ;  have  earned  perchance 

Of  ancient  service  quiet  for  a  term  ; 

Quiet  of  old  men  dropping  to  the  worm  ; 

And  so  goes  out  the  soul.     But  not  of  France. 

She  cries  for  grief,  and  to  the  Gods  she  cries. 

For  fearfully  their  loosened  hands  chastize. 

And  icily  they  watch  the  rod's  caress 

Ravage  her  flesh  from  scourges  merciless. 

But  she,  inveterate  of  brain,  discerns 

That  Pity  has  as  Uttle  place  as  Joy 

Among  their  roll  of  gifts  ;  for  Strength  she  yearns. 

For  Strength,  her  idol  once,  too  long  her  toy. 

Lo,  Strength  is  of  the  plain  root-Virtues  born  : 

Strength  shall  ye  gain  by  service,  prove  in  scorn. 


BALLADS  AND  POEMS 

Train  by  endurance,  by  devotion  shape. 

Strength  is  not  won  by  miracle  or  rape. 

It  is  the  offspring  of  the  modest  years, 

The  gift  of  sire  to  son,  thro'  those  firm  laws 

Which  we  name  Gods ;  which  are  the  righteous  cause, 

The  cause  of  man,  and  manhood's  ministers. 

Could  France  accept  the  fables  of  her  priests, 

Who  blest  her  banners  in  this  game  of  beasts. 

And  now  bid  hope  that  heaven  will  intercede 

To  violate  its  laws  in  her  sore  need, 

She  would  find  comfort  in  their  opiates  : 

Mother  of  Reason  !  can  she  cheat  the  Fates  ? 

Would  she,  the  champion  of  the  open  mind. 

The  Omnipotent's  prime  gift — the  gift  of  growth — 

Consent  even  for  a  night-time  to  be  blind. 

And  sink  her  soul  on  the  delusive  sloth. 

For  fruits  ethereal  and  material,  both. 

In  peril  of  her  place  among  mankind  ? 

The  Mother  of  the  many  Laughters  might 

Call  one  poor  shade  of  laughter  in  the  light 


FRANCE,  DECEMBER  1870  121 

Of  her  unwavering  lamp  to  mark  what  things 
The  world  puts  faith  in,  careless  of  the  truth  : 
What  silly  puppet-bodies  danced  on  strings, 
Attached  by  credence,  we  appear  in  sooth. 
Demanding  intercession,  direct  aid, 
When  the  whole  tragic  tale  hangs  on  a  broken  blade  ! 

She  swung  the  sword  for  centuries ;  in  a  day 
It  slipped  her,  like  a  stream  cut  off  from  source. 
She  struck  a  feeble  hand,  and  tried  to  pray. 
Clamoured  of  treachery,  and  had  recourse 
To  drunken  outcries  in  her  dream  that  Force 
Needed  but  hear  her  shouting  to  obey. 
Was  she  not  formed  to  conquer  ?     The  bright  plumes 
Of  crested  vanity  shed  graceful  nods  : 
Transcendent  in  her  foundries,  Arts  and  looms. 
Had  France  to  fear  the  vengeance  of  the  Gods  ? 
Her  faith  was  on  her  battle-roll  of  names 
Sheathed  in  the  records  of  old  war ;  with  dance 
And  sons?  she  thrilled  her  warriors  and  her  dames. 


2  BALLADS  AND  POEMS 

Embracing  her  Dishonourer  :  gave  him  France 
From  head  to  foot,  France  present  and  to  come, 
So  she  might  hear  the  trumpet  and  the  drum — 
Bellona  and  Bacchante  !  rushing  forth 
On  yon  stout  marching  Schoohiien  of  the  North. 

Inveterate  of  brain,  well  knows  she  why 
Strength  failed  her,  faithful  to  himself  the  first : 
Her  dream  is  done,  and  she  can  read  the  sky, 
And  she  can  take  into  her  heart  the  worst 
Calamity  to  drug  the  shameful  thought 
Of  days  that  made  her  as  the  man  she  served, 
A  name  of  terror,  but  a  thing  unnerved : 
Buying  the  trickster,  by  the  trickster  bought, 
She  for  dominion,  he  to  patch  a  throne. 


Henceforth  of  her  the  Gods  are  known, 
Open  to  them  her  breast  is  laid. 
Inveterate  of  brain,  heart-vahant, 


FRANCE,  DECEMBER  1870  123 

Never  did  fairer  creature  pant 
Before  the  altar  and  the  blade  ! 

IX. 

Swift  fall  the  blows,  and  men  upbraid, 
And  friends  give  echo  blunt  and  cold, 
The  echo  of  the  forest  to  the  axe. 
Within  her  are  the  fires  that  wax 
For  resurrection  from  the  mould. 

X. 

She  snatched  at  heaven's  flame  of  old, 
And  kindled  nations  :  she  was  weak  : 
Frail  sister  of  her  heroic  prototype, 
The  Man ;  for  sacrifice  unripe. 
She  too  must  fill  a  Vulture's  beak. 
Deride  the  vanquished,  and  acclaim 
The  conqueror,  who  stains  her  fame, 
Still  the  Gods  love  her,  for  that  of  high  aim 
Is  this  good  France,  the  bleeding  thing  they  stripe. 


124  BALLADS  AND  POEMS 

XI, 

She  shall  rise  worthier  of  her  prototype 
Thro'  her  abasement  deep ;  the  pain  that  runs 
From  nerve  to  nerve  some  victory  achieves. 
They  lie  like  circle-strewn  soaked  Autumn-leaves 
Which  stain  the  forest  scarlet,  her  fair  sons  ! 
And  of  their  death  her  life  is  :  of  their  blood 
From  many  streams  now  urging  to  a  flood, 
No  more  divided,  France  shall  rise  afresh. 
Of  them  she  learns  the  lesson  of  the  flesh  : — 
The  lesson  writ  in  red  since  first  Time  ran 
A  hunter  hunting  down  the  beast  in  man  : 
That  till  the  chasing  out  of  its  last  vice, 
The  flesh  was  fashioned  but  for  sacrifice. 

Immortal  Mother  of  a  mortal  host ! 
Thou  suffering  of  the  wounds  that  will  not  slay. 
Wounds  that  bring  death  but  take  not  life  away  !- 
Stand  fast  and  hearken  while  thy  victors  boast : 
Hearken,  and  loathe  that  music  evermore. 


FRANCE,  DECEMBER  1870  125 

Slip  loose  thy  garments  woven  of  pride  and  shame  : 
The  torture  lurks  in  them,  with  them  the  blame 
Shall  pass  to  leave  thee  purer  than  before. 
Undo  thy  jewels,  thinking  whence  they  came, 
For  what,  and  of  the  abominable  name 
Of  her  who  in  imperial  beauty  wore. 

O  Mother  of  a  fated  fleeting  host 
Conceived  in  the  past  days  of  sin,  and  born 
Heirs  of  disease  and  arrogance  and  scorn, 
Surrender,  yield  the  weight  of  thy  great  ghost. 
Like  wings  on  air,  to  what  the  heavens  proclaim 
With  trumpets  from  the  multitudinous  mounds 
Where  peace  has  filled  the  hearing  of  thy  sons  : 
Albeit  a  pang  of  dissolution  rounds 
Each  new  discernment  of  the  undying  ones, 
Do  thou  stoop  to  these  graves  here  scattered  wide 
Along  thy  fields,  as  sunless  billows  roll ; 
These  ashes  have  the  lesson  for  the  soul. 
'  Die  to  thy  Vanity,  and  strain  thy  Pride, 


126  BALLADS  AND  POEMS 

Strip  off  thy  Luxury  :  that  thou  may'st  live, 
Die  to  thyself,'  they  say,  'as  we  have  died 
From  dear  existence,  and  the  foe  forgive, 
Nor  pray  for  aught  save  in  our  little  space 
To  warm  good  seed  to  greet  the  fair  earth's  face.' 
O  Mother  !  take  their  counsel,  and  so  shall 
The  broader  world  breathe  in  on  this  thy  home, 
Light  clear  for  thee  the  counter-changing  dome. 
Strength  give  thee,  like  an  ocean's  vast  expanse 
Off  mountain  cliffs,  the  generations  all. 
Not  whirling  in  their  narrow  rings  of  foam, 
But  as  a  river  forward.     Soaring  France  ! 
Now  is  Humanity  on  trial  in  thee  : 
Now  may'st  thou  gather  humankind  in  fee  : 
Now  prove  that  Reason  is  a  quenchless  scroll ; 
Make  of  calamity  thine  aureole, 
And  bleeding  lead  us  thro'  the  troubles  of  the  sea. 


MEN  AND  MAN  127 


MEN  AND  MAN 

1. 

Men  the  Angels  eyed ; 

And  here  they  were  wild  waves, 

And  there  as  marsh  descried. 

Men  the  Angels  eyed, 

And  liked  the  picture  best 

Where  they  were  greenly  dressed 

In  brotherhood  of  graves. 

II. 

Man  the  Angels  marked  : 

He  led  a  host  through  murk, 
On  fearful  seas  embarked, 
Man  the  Angels  marked ; 
To  think  without  a  nay, 
That  he  was  good  as  they. 
And  help  him  at  his  work. 


128  BALLADS  AND  POEMS 

in. 
Man  and  Angels,  ye 
A  sluggish  fen  shall  drain, 
Shall  quell  a  warring  sea. 
Man  and  Angels,  ye. 
Whom  stain  of  strife  befouls, 
A  light  to  kindle  souls 
Bear  radiant  in  the  stain. 


THE  LAST  CONTENTION  129 


THE  LAST  CONTENTION 


Young  captain  of  a  crazy  bark  ! 
O  tameless  heart  in  battered  frame  ! 
Thy  sailing  orders  have  a  mark, 
And  hers  is  not  the  name. 

II. 

For  action  all  thine  iron  clanks 
In  cravings  for  a  splendid  prize  ; 
Again  to  race  or  bump  thy  planks 
With  any  flag  that  flies. 


I30  BALLADS  AND  POEMS 

III. 
Consult  them  ;  they  are  eloquent 

For  senses  not  inebriate. 

They  trust  thee  on  the  star  intent, 

That  leads  to  land  their  freight. 

IV. 

And  they  have  known  thee  high  peruse 
The  heavens,  and  deep  the  earth,  till  thou 
Didst  into  the  flushed  circle  cruise 
Where  reason  quits  the  brow. 

V. 

Thou  animatest  ancient  tales. 
To  prove  our  world  of  linear  seed  : 
Thy  very  virtue  now  assails, 
A  tempter  to  mislead. 

VI. 

But  thou  hast  answer  :  I  am  I ; 
My  passion  hallows,  bids  command  : 
And  she  is  gracious,  she  is  nigh  : 
One  motion  of  the  hand  ! 


THE  LAST  CONTENTION  131 

VII. 
It  will  suffice ;  a  whirly  tune 

These  winds  will  pipe,  and  thou  perform 

The  nodded  part  of  pantaloon 

In  thy  created  storm. 

VIII. 

Admires  thee  Nature  with  much  pride ; 
She  clasps  thee  for  a  gift  of  morn, 
Till  thou  art  set  against  the  tide, 
And  then  beware  her  scorn. 

IX. 

Sad  issue,  should  that  strife  befall 
Between  thy  mortal  ship  and  thee  ! 
It  writes  the  melancholy  scrawl 
Of  wreckage  over  sea. 

X. 

This  lady  of  the  luting  tongue. 
The  flash  in  darkness,  billow's  grace, 
For  thee  the  worship ;  for  the  young 
In  muscle  the  embrace. 


BALLADS  AND  POEMS 

XI. 
Soar  on  thy  manhood  clear  from  those 
Whose  toothless  Winter  claws  at  May, 
And  take  her  as  the  vein  of  rose 
Athwart  an  evening  grey. 


PERIANDER  133 


PERIANDER 


How  died  Melissa  none  dares  shape  in  words. 

A  woman  who  is  wife  despotic  lords 

Count  faggot  at  the  question,  Shall  she  live  ! 

Her  son,  because  his  brows  were  black  of  her, 

Runs  barking  for  his  bread,  a  fugitive. 

And  Corinth  frowns  on  them  that  feed  the  cur. 


134  BALLADS  AND  POEMS 


II. 

There  is  no  Corinth  save  the  whip  and  curb 

Of  Corinth,  high  Periander ;  the  superb 

In  magnanimity,  in  rule  severe. 

Up  on  his  marble  fortress-tower  he  sits, 

The  city  under  him ;  a  white  yoked  steer, 

That  bears  his  heart  for  pulse,  his  head  for  wits. 


III. 


Bloom  of  the  generous  fires  of  his  fair  Spring 
Still  coloured  him  when  men  forbore  to  sting ; 
Admiring  meekly  where  the  ordered  seeds 
Of  his  good  sovereignty  showed  gardens  trim  ; 
And  owning  that  the  hoe  he  struck  at  weeds 
Was  author  of  the  flowers  raised  face  to  him. 


PERIANDER  135 


IV. 


His  Corinth,  to  each  mood  subservient 

In  homage,  made  he  as  an  instrument 

To  yield  him  music  with  scarce  touch  of  stops. 

He  breathed,  it  piped ;  he  moved,  it  rose  to  fly 

At  whiles  a  bloodhorse  racing  till  it  drops ; 

At  whiles  a  crouching  dog,  on  him  all  eye. 


His  wisdom  men  acknowledged  ;  only  one. 
The  creature,  issue  of  him,  Lycophron, 
That  rebel  with  his  mother  in  his  brows. 
Contested  :  such  an  infamous  would  foul 
Pirene  !     Litde  heed  where  he  might  house 
The  prince  gave,  hearing  :  so  the  fox,  the  owl 


136  BALLADS  AND  POEMS 


VI. 

To  prove  the  Gods  benignant  to  his  rule, 
The  years,  which  fasten  rigid  whom  they  cool. 
Reviewing,  saw  him  hold  the  seat  of  power. 
A  grey  one  asked  :  Who  next  ?  nor  answer  had 
One  greyer  pointed  on  the  pallid  hour 
To  come  :  a  river  dried  of  waters  glad. 


VII. 

For  which  of  his  male  issue  promised  grip 

To  stride  yon  people,  with  the  curb  and  whip  ? 

This  Lycophron  !  he  sole,  the  father  like, 

Fired  prospect  of  a  line  in  one  strong  tide, 

By  right  of  mastery  ;  stern  will  to  strike  ; 

Pride  to  support  the  stroke  :  yea.  Godlike  pride  ! 


PERIANDER  137 


VIII. 


Himself  the  prince  beheld  a  failing  fount. 
His  line  stretched  back  unto  its  holy  mount 
The  thirsty  onward  waved  for  him  no  sign. 
Then  stood  before  his  vision  that  hard  son. 
The  seizure  of  a  passion  for  his  line 
Impelled  him  to  the  path  of  Lycophron. 


IX. 

The  youth  was  tossing  pebbles  in  the  sea ; 
A  figure  shunned  along  the  busy  quay, 
Perforce  of  the  harsh  edict  for  who  dared 
Address  him  outcast.     Naming  it,  he  crossed 
His  father's  look  with  look  that  proved  them  paired 
For  stiffness,  and  another  pebble  tossed. 


138  BALLADS  AND  POEMS 


An  exile  to  the  Island  ere  nightfall 

He  passed  from  sight,  from  the  hushed  mouths  of  all. 

It  had  resemblance  to  a  death  :  and  on, 

Against  a  coast  where  sapphire  shattered  white, 

The  seasons  rolled  like  troops  of  billows  blown 

To  spraymist.     The  prince  gazed  on  capping  night. 


Deaf  Age  spake  in  his  ear  with  shouts  :  Thy  son  ! 

Deep  from  his  heart  Life  raved  of  work  not  done. 

He  heard  historic  echoes  moan  his  name, 

As  of  the  prince  in  whom  the  race  had  pause ; 

Till  Tyranny  paternity  became, 

And  him  he  hated  loved  he  for  the  cause. 


PERIANDER  I39 


XII. 


Not  Lycophron  the  exile  now  appeared, 
But  young  Periander,  from  the  shadow  cleared, 
That  haunted  his  rebellious  brows.     The  prince 
Grew  bright  for  him  ;  saw  youth,  if  seeming  loth, 
Return  :  and  of  pure  pardon  to  convince. 
Despatched  the  messenger  most  dear  with  both. 


XIII. 

His  daughter,  from  the  exile's  Island  home. 
Wrote,  as  a  flight  of  halcyons  o'er  the  foam, 
Sweet  words  :  her  brother  to  his  father  bowed  ; 
Accepted  his  peace-offering,  and  rejoiced. 
To  bring  him  back  a  prince  the  father  vowed, 
Commanded  man  the  oars,  the  white  sails  hoist. 


I40  BALLADS  AND  POEMS 


XIV. 


He  waved  the  fleet  to  strain  its  westward  way 

On  to  the  sea-hued  hills  that  crown  the  bay  : 

Soil  of  those  hospitable  islanders 

Whom  now  his  heart,  for  honour  to  his  blood, 

Thanked.     They  should  learn  what  boons  a  prince  confers 

When  happiness  enjoins  him  gratitude  ! 


XV. 


In  watch  upon  the  offing,  worn  with  haste 
To  see  his  youth  revived,  and,  close  embraced, 
Pardon  who  had  subdued  him,  who  had  gained 
Surely  the  stoutest  batde  between  two 
Since  Titan  pierced  by  young  Apollo  stained 
Earth's   breast,    the   prince   looked   forth,    himself  looked 
through. 


PERIANDER  141 


XVI. 


Errors  aforetime  unperceived  were  bared, 

To  be  by  his  young  masterful  repaired  : 

Renewed  his  great  ideas  gone  to  smoke  ; 

His  policy  confirmed  amid  the  surge 

Of  States  and  people  fretting  at  his  yoke. 

And  lo,  the  fleet  brown-flocked  on  the  sea-verge  ! 


XVII. 


Oars  pulled  :  they  streamed  in  harbour ;  without  cheer 

For  welcome  shadowed  round  the  heaving  bier. 

They,  whose  approach  in  such  rare  pomp  and  stress 

Of  numbers  the  free  islanders  dismayed 

At  Tyranny  come  masking  to  oppress, 

Found  Lycophron  this  breathless,  this  lone-laid. 


142  BALLADS  AND  POEMS 


XVIII. 


Who  smote  the  man  thrown  open  to  young  joy  ? 

The  image  of  the  mother  of  his  boy 

Came  forth  from  his  unwary  breast  in  wreaths, 

With  eyes.     And  shall  a  woman,  that  extinct, 

Smite  out  of  dust  the  Powerful  who  breathes  ? 

Her  loved  the  son ;  her  served ;  they  lay  close-linked ! 


XIX. 

Dead  was  he,  and  demanding  earth.     Demand 
Sharper  for  vengeance  of  an  instant  hand, 
The  Tyrant  in  the  father  heard  him  cry. 
And  raged  a  plague ;  to  prove  on  free  Hellenes 
How  prompt  the  Tyrant  for  the  Persian  dye ; 
How  black  his  Gods  behind  their  marble  screens. 


SOLON  143 


SOLON 


The  Tyrant  passed,  and  friendlier  was  his  eye 
On  the  great  man  of  Athens,  whom  for  foe 
He  knew,  than  on  the  sycophantic  fry 
That  broke  as  waters  round  a  galley's  flow, 
Bubbles  at  prow  and  foam  along  the  wake. 
Solidity  the  Thunderer  could  not  shake, 
Beneath  an  adverse  wind  still  stripping  bare, 
His  kinsman,  of  the  light-in-cavern  look, 
From  thought  drew,  and  a  countenance  could  wear 


144  BALLADS  AND  POEMS 

Not  less  at  peace  than  fields  in  Attic  air 
Shorn,  and  shown  fruitful  by  the  reaper's  hook. 


II. 

Most  enviable  so ;  yet  much  insane 

To  deem  of  minds  of  men  they  grow  !  these  sheep, 

By  fits  wild  horses,  need  the  crook  and  rein ; 

Hot  bulls  by  fits,  pure  wisdom  hold  they  cheap, 

My  Lawgiver,  when  fiery  is  the  mood. 

For  ones  and  twos  and  threes  thy  words  are  good  : 

For  thine  own  government  are  pillars  :  mine 

Stand  acts  to  fit  the  herd ;  which  has  quick  thirst, 

Rejecting  elegiacs,  though  they  shine 

On  polished  brass,  and,  worthy  of  the  Nine, 

In  showering  columns  from  their  fountain  burst. 


SOLON  145 


III. 


Thus  museful  rode  the  Tyrant,  princely  plumed, 
To  his  high  seat  upon  the  sacred  rock : 
And  Solon,  blank  beside  his  rule,  resumed 
The  meditation  which  that  passing  mock 
Had  buffeted  awhile  to  sallowness. 
He  little  loved  the  man,  his  office  less, 
Yet  owned  him  for  a  flower  of  his  kind. 
Therefore  the  heavier  curse  on  Athens  he  ! 
The  people  grew  not  in  themselves,  but  blind, 
Accepted  sight  from  him,  to  him  resigned 
Their  hopes  of  stature,  rootless  as  at  sea. 


IV. 


As  under  sea  lay  Solon's  work,  or  seemed 
By  turbid  shore-waves  beaten  day  by  day ; 


146  BALLADS  AND  POEMS 

Defaced,  half  formless,  like  an  image  dreamed, 
Or  child  that  fashioned  in  another  clay 
Appears,  by  strangers'  hands  to  home  returned. 
But  shall  the  Present  tyrannize  us  ?  earned 
It  was  in  some  way,  justly  says  the  sage. 
One  sees  not  how,  while  husbanding  regrets ; 
While  tossing  scorn  abroad  from  righteous  rage, 
High  vision  is  obscured ;  for  this  is  age 
When  robbed — more  infant  than  the  babe  it  frets. 


Yet  see  Athenians  treading  the  black  path 
Laid  by  a  prince's  shadow !  well  content 
To  wait  his  pleasure,  shivering  at  his  wrath 
They  bow  to  their  accepted  Orient 


SOLON  147 

With  offer  of  the  all  that  renders  bright : 

Forgetful  of  the  growth  of  men  to  light, 

As  creatures  reared  on  Persian  milk  they  bow. 

Unripe  !  unripe  !      The  times  are  overcast. 

But  still  may  they  who  sowed  behind  the  plough   , 

True  seed  fix  in  the  mind  an  unborn  Now 

To  make  the  plagues  afflicting  us  things  past. 


148  BALLADS  AND  POEMS 


BELLEROPHON 

I. 

Maimed,  beggared,  grey ;  seeking  an  alms ;  with  nod 
Of  palsy  doing  task  of  thanks  for  bread ; 

Upon  the  stature  of  a  God, 
He  whom  the  Gods  have  struck  bends  low  his  head. 


Weak  words  he  has,  that  slip  the  nerveless  tongue 
Deformed,  like  his  great  frame  :  a  broken  arc  : 

Once  radiant  as  the  javelin  flung 
Right  at  the  centre  breastplate  of  his  mark. 


BELLEROPHON  149 

III. 
Oft  pausing  on  his  white-eyed  inward  look, 

Some  undermountain  narrative  he  tells, 

As  gapped  by  Lykian  heat  the  brook 

Cut  from  the  source  that  in  the  upland  swells. 

IV. 

The  cottagers  who  dole  him  fruit  and  crust. 
With  patient  inattention  hear  him  prate : 

x\nd  comes  the  snow,  and  comes  the  dust, 
Comes  the  old  wanderer,  more  bent  of  late. 

V. 

A  crazy  beggar  grateful  for  a  meal 
Has  ever  of  himself  a  world  to  say. 

For  them  he  is  an  ancient  wheel 
Spinning  a  knotted  thread  the  livelong  day. 

VI. 

He  cannot,  nor  do  they,  the  tale  connect ; 
For  never  singer  in  the  land  had  been 

Who  him  for  theme  did  not  reject : 
Spurned  of  the  hoof  that  sprang  the  Hippocrene. 


ISO  BALLADS  AND  POEMS 

VII. 
Albeit  a  theme  of  flame  to  bring  them  straight 

The  snorting  white-winged  brother  of  the  wave, 

They  hear  him  as  a  thing  by  fate 

Cursed  in  unholy  babble  to  his  grave. 

VIII. 

As  men  that  spied  the  wings,  that  heard  the  snort, 
Their  sires  have  told ;  and  of  a  martial  prince 

Bestriding  him  ;  and  old  report 
Speaks  of  a  monster  slain  by  one  long  since. 

IX. 

There  is  that  story  of  the  golden  bit 

By  Goddess  given  to  tame  the  lightning  steed  : 

•  A  mortal  who  could  mount,  and  sit 
Flying,  and  up  Olympus  midway  speed. 

X. 

He  rose  like  the  loosed  fountain's  utmost  leap; 
He  played  the  star  at  span  of  heaven  right  o'er 

Men's  heads  :  they  saw  the  snowy  steep, 
Saw  the  winged  shoulders  :  him  they  saw  not  more. 


BELLEROPHON  'S^ 


XI. 


He  fell :  and  says  the  shattered  man,  I  fell : 
And  sweeps  an  arm  the  height  an  eagle  wins  : 

And  in  his  breast  a  mouthless  well 
Heaves  the  worn  patches  of  his  coat  of  skins. 


XII. 


Lo,  this  is  he  in  whom  the  surgent  springs 
Of  recollections  richer  than  our  skies 

To  feed  the  flow  of  tuneful  strings, 
Show  but  a  pool  of  scum  for  shooting  flies. 


152  BALLADS  AND  POEMS 


PHAETHON 

ATTEMPTED    IN    THE   GALLIAMBIC    MEASURE 

At  the  coming  up  of  Phoebus  the  all-luminous  charioteer, 
Double-visaged  stand  the  mountains  in  imperial  multitudes, 
And  with  shadows  dappled  men  sing  to  him.  Hail,  O  Beneficent  ! 
For  they  shudder  chill,  the  earth-vales,  at  his  clouding,  shudder  to  black ; 
In  the  light  of  him  there  is  music  thro'  the  poplar  and  river-sedge, 
Renovation,  chirp  of  brooks,  hum  of  the  forest — an  ocean-song. 
Never  pearl  from  ocean-bottoms  by  the  diver  exultingly, 
In  his  breathlessness,  above  thrust,  is  as  earth  to  Helios. 

Who  usurps  his  place  there,  rashest  ?     Aphrodite's  loved  one  it  is  ! 

To  his  son  the  flaming  Sun-God,  to  the  tender  youth,  Phaethon, 

Rule  of  day  this  day  surrenders  as  a  thing  hereditary. 

Having  sworn  by  Styx  tremendous,  for  the  proof  of  his  parentage. 

He  would  grant  his  son's  petition,  whatsoever  the  sign  thereof. 

Then,  rejoiced,  the  stripling  answered  :   '  Rule  of  day  give  me ;  give 

it  me, 
'  Give  me  place  that  men  may  see  me  how  I  blaze,  and  transcendingly, 
'  I,  divine,  proclaim  my  birthright. '     Darkened  Helios,  his  utterance 


PHAETHON  153 

Choked  prophetic  :   '  O  half  mortal  ! '  he  exclah-ned  in  an  agony, 

'  O  lost  son  of  mine  !  lost  son  !     No  !  put  a  prayer  for  another  thing  : 

'  Not  for  this  :  insane  to  wish  it,  and  to  crave  the  gift  impious  ! 

'  Cannot  other  gifts  my  godhead  shed  upon  thee  ?  miraculous 

'  Mighty  gifts  to  prove  a  blessing,  that  to  earth  thou  shalt  be  a  joy  ? 

'  Gifts  of  healing,  wherewith  men  walk  as  the  Gods  beneficently  ; 

'  As  a  God  to  sway  to  concord  hearts  of  men,  reconciling  them  ; 

'  Gifts  of  verse,  the  lyre,  the  laurel,  therewithal  that  thine  origin 

'  Shall  be  known  even  as  when  /strike  on  the  string'd  shell  with  melody, 

'  And  the  golden  notes,  like  medicine,  darting  straight  to  the  cavities, 

'  Fill  them  up,  till  hearts  of  men  bound  as  the  billows,  the  ships  thereon.' 

Thus  intently  urged  the  Sun-God  ;  but  the  force  of  his  eloquence 

Was  the  pressing  on  of  sea-waves  scattered  broad  from  the  rocks  away. 

What  shall  move  a  soul  from  madness  ?    Lost,  lost  in  delirium. 

Rock-fast,  the  adolescent  to  his  father,  irreverent, 

'By  the  oath  !  the  oath  !  thine  oath  !'  cried.     The  effulgent  foreseer 

then, 
Quivering  in  his  loins  parental,  on  the  boy's  beaming  countenance 
Looked  and  moaned,  and  urged  him  for  love's  sake,  for  sweet  life's 

sake,  to  yield  the  claim, 
To  abandon  his  mad  hunger,  and  avert  the  calamity. 
But  he,  vehement,  passionate,  called  out :  '  Let  me  show  I  am  what 

I  say, 
'  That  the  taunts  I  hear  be  silenced  :  I  am  stung  with  their  whispering. 
'  Only,  Thou,  my  Father,  Thou  tell  how  aloft  the  revolving  wheels, 
'  How  aloft  the  cleaving  horse-crests  I  may  guide  peremptorily, 
'  Till  I  drink  the  shadows,  fire-hot,  like  a  flower  celestial, 


154  BALLADS  AND  POEMS 

'  And  my  fellows  see  me  curbing  the  fierce  steeds,  the  dear  dew-drinkers : 
'  Yea,  for  this  I  gaze  on  life's  light  ;  throw  for  this  any  sacrifice.' 

AH  the  end  foreseeing,  Phoebus,  to  his  oath  irrevocable, 

Bowed  obedient,  deploring  the  insanity  pitiless. 

Then  the  flame-outsnorting  horses  were  led  forth  :  it  was  so  decreed. 

They  were  yoked  before  the  glad  youth  by  his  sister-ancillaries. 

Swift  the  ripple  ripples  follow'd,  as  of  aureate  Helicon, 

Down  their  flanks,  while  they  impatient  pawed  desire  of  the  distances. 

And  the  bit  with  fury  champed.      Oh  !  unimaginable  glories  ! 

Unimagined  speed  and  splendour  in  the  circle  of  upper  air ! 

Higher,  higher  than  the  mountains,  than  the  eagle  fleeing  arrows ! 

Glory  grander  than  the  armed  host  upon  earth  singing  victory  ! 

Chafed    the    youth  with  their  spirit   surcharged,   as  when  blossom  is 

shaken  by  winds, 
Marked  that  labour  by  his  sister  Phaethontiades  finished,  quick 
On  the  slope  of  the  car  his  forefoot  set  assured  :    and  the  morning 

rose  : 
Seeing  whom,  and  what  a  day  dawned,  stood  the  God,  as  in  harvest 

fields. 
When  the  reaper  grasps  the  full  sheaf  and  the  sickle  that  severs  it : 
Hugged  the  withered  head  with  one  hand,  with  the  other,  to  indicate 
(If  this  woe  might  be  averted,  this  immeasurable  evil). 
Laid  the  kindling  course  in  view,  told  how  the  reins  to  manipulate : 
Named  the  horses  fondly,  fearful,  caution'd  urgently  betweenwhiles  : 
Their  diverging  tempers  dwelt  on,  and  their  wantonness,  wickedness, 
That  the  voice  of  Gods  alone  held  in  restraint ;  but  the  voice  of  Gods; 


PHAETHON  155 

None  but  Gods  can  curb.     He  spake  :  vain  were  the  words  :  scarcely 

listening, 
Mounted  Phaethon,  swinging  reins  loose,  and,  '  Behold  me,  companions, 
'It  is  I  here,  I !'  he  shouted,  glancing  down  with  supremacy  ; 
'  Not  to  any  of  you  was  this  gift  granted  ever  in  annals  of  men  ; 
'  I  alone  what  only  Gods  can,  I  alone  am  governing  day ! ' 
Short  the  triumph,  brief  his  rapture  :  see  a  hurricane  suddenly 
Beat  the  lifting  billow  crestless,  roll  it  broken  this  way  and  that ; — 
At  the  leap  on  yielding  ether,  in  despite  of  his  reprimand. 
Swayed  tumultuous  the  fire-steeds,  plunging  reckless  hither  and  yon  ; 
Unto  men  a  great  amazement,  all  agaze  at  the  Orient  : — 
Pitifully  for  mastery  striving  in  ascension,  the  charioteer, 
Reminiscent,  drifts  of  counsel  caught  confused  in  his  arid  wits  ; 
The  reins  stiff  ahind  his  shoulder  madly  pulled  for  the  mastery, 
Till  a  thunder  off  the  tense  chords  thro'  his  ears  dinned  horrible. 
Panic  seized  him  :  fled  his  vision  of  inviolability  ; 
Fled  the  dream  that  he  of  mortals  rode  mischances  predominant ; 
And  he  cried,  '  Had  I  petitioned  for  a  cup  of  chill  aconite, 
'  My  descent  to  awful  Hades  had  been  soft,  for  now  must  I  go 
'  With  the  curse  by  father  Zeus  cast  on  ambition  immoderate. 
'  Oh,  my  sisters  !     Thou,  my  Goddess,  in  whose  love  I  was  enviable, 
'  From  whose  arms  I  rushed  befrenzied,  what  a  wreck  will  this  body 

be, 
'  That  admired  of  thee  stood  rose-warm  in  the  courts  where  thy  mysteries 
'  Celebration  had  from  me,  me  the  most  splendidly  privileged  ! 
'  Never  more  shall  I  thy  temple  fill  with  incenses  bewildering ; 
'  Not  again  hear  thy  half-murmurs — I  am  lost  ! — never,  never  more. 


156  BALLADS  AND  POEMS 

'  I  am  wrecked  on  seas  of  air,  hurled  to  my  death  in  a  vessel  of  flame  ! 
'  Hither,  sisters  !     Father,  save  me  !     Hither,  succour  me,  Cypria  !' 

Now  a  wail  of  men  to  Zeus  rang  :  from  Olympus  the  Thunderer 

Saw  the  rage  of  the  havoc  wide-mouthed,  the  bright  car  superimpending 

Over  Asia,  Africa,  low  down  ;  ruin  flaming  over  the  vales  ; 

Light  disastrous  rising  savage  out  of  smoke  inveterately  ; 

Beast-black,  the  conflagration  like  a  menacing  shadow  move 

With  voracious  roaring  southward,  where  aslant,  insufferable. 

The  bright  steeds   careered   their  parched   way  down   an  arc  of  the 

firmament. 
For  the  day  grew  like  to  thick  night,  and  the  orb  was  its  beacon- 
fire, 
And  from  hill  to  hill  of  darkness  burst  the  day's  apparition  forth. 
Lo,  a  wrestler,  not  a  God,  stood  in  the  chariot  ever  lowering  : 
Lo,  the  shape  of  one  who  raced  there  to  outstrip  the  legitimate  hours  : 
Lo,  the  ravish'd  beams  of  Phoebus  dragg'd  in  shame  at  the  chariot- 
wheels  : 
Light  of  days  of  happy  pipings  by  the  mead-singing  rivulets  ! 
Lo,  lo,  increasing  lustre,  torrid  breath  to  the  nostrils ;  lo. 
Torrid  brilliancies  thro'  the  vapours  lighten  swifter,  penetrate  them. 
Fasten  merciless,  ruminant,  hueless,  on  earth's  frame  crackling  busily. 
He  aloft,  the  frenzied  driver,  in  the  glow  of  the  universe. 
Like  the  paling  of  the  dawn-star  withers  visibly,  he  aloft : 
Bitter  fury  in  his  aspect,  bitter  death  in  the  heart  of  him. 
Crouch  the  herds,  contract  the  reptiles,  crouch  the  lions  under  their 
paws. 


PHAETHON  157 

White  as  metal  in  the  furnace  are  the  faces  of  humankind  : 
Inarticulate  creatures  of  earth,  dumb  all  await  the  ultimate  shock. 

To  the  bolt  he  launched,  '  Strike  dead,  thou,'  uttered  Zeus,  very  terrible ; 
'  Perish  folly,  else  'tis  man's  fate  ; '  and  the  bolt  flew  unerringly. 
Then  the  kindler  stooped  ;  from  the  torch-car  down  the  measureless 

altitudes 
Leaned  his  rayless  head,  relinquished  rein  and  footing,  raised  not  a  cry. 
Like  the  flower  on  the  river's  surface  when  expanding  it  vanishes. 
Gave  his  limbs  to  right  and  left,  quenched  :  and  so  fell  he  precipitate, 
Seen  of  men  as  a  glad  rain-fall,  sending  coolness  yet  ere  it  comes  : 
So  he  showered  above  them,  shadowed  o'er  the  blue  archipelagoes. 
O'er  the  silken-shining  pastures  of  the  continents  and  the  isles  ; 
So  descending  brought  revival  to  the  greenery  of  our  earth. 

Lither,  noisy  in  the  breezes  now  his  sisters  shivering  weep. 

By  the  river  flowing  smooth  out  to  the  vexed  sea  of  Adria, 

Where  he  fell,  and  where  they  suffered  sudden  change  to  the  tremulous 

Ever-wailful  trees  bemoaning  him,  a  bruised  purple  cyclamen. 


NOTES 


THEODOLINDA. 


The  legend  of  the  Iron  Crown  of  Lombardy,  formed  of  a  nail  of 
the  true  Cross  by  order  of  the  devout  Queen  Theodolinda,  is  well 
known.  In  the  above  dramatic  song  she  is  seen  passing  through  one 
of  the  higher  temptations  of  the  believing  Christian. 


PHAETHON. 

The  Galliambic  Measure. 

Hermann  (Elementa  Dodrinae  3Ietricae),  after  citing  lines  from  the 
Tragic  poet  Phrynichus  and  from  the  Comic,  observes  : 

Dixi  supra,  Phrynichorum  versus  videri  puros  lonicos  esse.  Id  si 
verum  est,  Galliambi  non  alia  re  ab  his  differunt,  quam  quod  anaclasin, 
contractionesque  et  solutiones  recipiunt.  Itaque  versus  Galliambicus 
ex  duobus  versibus  Anacreonteis  constat,  quorum  secundus  catalecticus 
est,  hac  forma  : 

-//  r      r  t      f  X. 

<-A>    WA-/    W 

r    -  .^       z 

s.^>   — •  W  WW  w  *-> 

The  wonderful  Atys  of  Catullus  is  the  one  classic  example.     A  few 
lines  have  been  gathered  elsewhere.     The  Laureate's  Boadicea  rides 


i6o  NOTES 

over  many  difficulties  and  is  a  noble  poem.     Catullus  makes  general 
use  of  the  variant  second  of  the  above  metrical  forms  : 

Mihi  jamiae  freqiientes,  mihi  limina  tepida: 

With  stress  on  the  emotion  : 

Jam,  jam  dolet  quod  egt,  jamjamque  poenitei. 

A  perfect  conquest  of  the  measure  is  not  possible  in  our  tongue. 
For  the  sake  of  an  occasional  success  in  the  velocity,  sweep,  volume  of 
the  line,  it  seems  worth  an  effort ;  and,  if  to  some  degree  serviceable 
for  narrative  verse,  it  is  one  of  the  exercises  of  a  writer  which  readers 
may  be  invited  to  share. 


THE   END 


PHnted  by  R.  &  R.  Clark,  Edmburgh 


n  i*^ 

c  / 


492 


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